Baby Complex
by West27
Summary: When Matthew and Gilbert reveal that Matthew is expecting a child, their family and friends are delighted. However, an incident involving the return of Ivan's scarf puts Matthew in a difficult situation and his child at risk... and Matthew's ready to protect the child at his own expense. Rated for language, Yaoi, MPreg, implied abuse, violence. Multiple pairings
1. Prologue: Getting Ready For Christmas

**Prologue: Getting Ready For Christmas**

To those who have arrived at this story because they followed a link on the description of my dA-posted version of this... this story is the finalised offical version. The one you may have read on dA was, what we could call, a 'prototype' of sorts. There are some slight alterations but essentially, this is the same story. Enjoy.

The prologue of the sequel ('The Game of Happy Families') has now been released.

**Date: 11th December, 2012**

* * *

Matthew Williams, or more commonly known as Canada, was curled up on the living room couch, cushioned by a pile of feather pillows and wrapped in a soft blanket with a mug of maple syrup-sweetened cocoa. The fireplace sizzled away, sporting warm scarlet flames that cast a rich orange glow into the room.  
Outside snow fell from the heavens in a heavy flurry, guided and controlled by the gusty winter gale. Canadian winters were always so chilly, but not something Matthew wasn't use to.

**"Aargh! Damn, it's freezing!"**He couldn't of course say the same thing about his boyfriend.

"Cold out, is it Gil?" The Prussian popped his head around the door. His lips were blue, his skin as pale as his platinum hair. The fact that his crimson eyes seemed to be the most colourful thing about him at the moment creeped the little Canadian out, especially when those reddened orbs focused on him.

"You didn't hear me, I take it."

"Mm," Matthew took another sip of his warm drink. "Did you manage to get to the store on the way over?" Kicking off his heavy snow boots, Gilbert entered the living room still wearing his outdoor coat. In his arms he clutched a brown paper bag. Before setting off for Matthew's house, Gilbert had gotten a phone call requesting certain items.

"Maple syrup, flour, buttermilk, two dozen large brown eggs… "

"Ice cream?" Gilbert rummaged around the bag for a moment before pulling out a small beige carton.

"_Ja_… sorry, they didn't have anything with maple or cookie dough. The awesome me did find something with chocolate in it though!" The Prussian slowly put the ice cream back in with the rest of his offerings. "But really? Eating ice cream in winter is kinda weird, huh?" Canada grumbled a little, trying to get to his feet. Prussia, upon realising, set the groceries on the coffee table and slid his hands beneath the young Canadian's underarms, pulling him to his feet.

"How're you feeling, Mattie?" Gil asked as his boyfriend pulled the blanket over his shoulders, like a little old lady's shawl. Gilbert could now clearly see that Matthew was wearing only an extra-large night shirt with elasticated pyjama bottoms, with fluffy red bed socks on his feet. The Prussian pulled him gently into his chest, letting his gloved hands slip beneath the night shirt to rest gently on an enlarged belly.

"I'm fine, Gil… we're fine. You don't need to worry, eh."

"How much longer now?"

"Not long… another few weeks at most, I think. January at the very latest. But we should really think about telling our families, Gil… we're nearly the full nine months in, and they're clueless!"

"It's fun being alone, huh? Living out here in the snow, away from them all! _Und_they've been holding off all the meetings these past months, so that means we can be together!"

"Gil… please listen. It's Christmas in two weeks, and I've invited everyone over for the evening to celebrate. Including Italy and Germany. We need to tell them."

"W-wait! Who do you mean by 'everyone'?" Matthew wriggled, turning in Gil's hold so that they faced one another with his hands resting on the albino's shoulders.

"Well… originally it was just going to be us, Arthur, Francis, Alfred and Ludwig… but then Feliciano asked to join us, then he invited Romano, Antonio, Elizabeta, Roderich. Then Alfred wanted to invite Yao, Ivan and Kiku, so they're coming… as well." Prussia screwed his face up with detest. England and America were great; a drinking buddy and his Mattie's goofy big brother. France and Spain, no question about it, were great, and Germany and his boyfriend were good fun when alcohol was present. That Romano wasn't too bad either… when he wasn't being a jerk. But… the latter five guests… okay, so perhaps Hungary had a good excuse to bitch at him, and Austria was Austria, no changing him… but Kiku and Yao were boring old guys… unless of course he could get them completely wasted.

Then there was Russia. Ivan Braginski. That vodka-swigging bastard would no doubt put everyone out of their comfort zones and kill the mood.

"That Ivan-shit _isn't_ coming here!"  
**  
"G-Gilbert! I already agreed for him to come over! And besides, it's not like he's bringing the Baltics or either of his sisters over! Just be nice and don't get into any fights, or… or…!"** Gilbert flinched a little at the young blonde's sudden outburst. Over the past six months, Gilbert had learnt that he couldn't win an argument with the normally quiet Canadian. Not with all those hormones flooding his system, turning him into a little maple tyrant.

Oh crap. Tears were welling up in Matthew's eyes, threatening to leave stains down the sides of those plump red cheeks of his. Biting his lip Prussia decided to try and change the subject; he couldn't bear to see his favourite little blonde cry.

"Hey… how about we go into the kitchen? We can make some of your awesome pancakes for supper, okay? We can have them with some of that ice cream and maple syrup!" Pulled into comforting embrace, Prussia rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Matthew sniffed, nodding with agreement before allowing the coat-cladden man to lead him into the kitchen.


	2. Telling The Dysfunctional Family

**Chapter 1:**** Telling The Dysfunctional Family**

I honestly don't know what time period this is set in... I was thinking, say, 2012... but there's a few bits and pieces out of place** *cough*** Soviet Union ***cough*** for this time line... so... just thought I might give a few heads up ^J^

**Date:** **25th December, 2012**

* * *

"Merry Christmas!"

"_Joyeux Noël_, Gilbert. Where's mon _petit Mathieu_?" Francis, Arthur and Alfred were standing at the doorway, wrapped from head to toe in warm winter coats, hats and scarves. In comparison to the Prussian, who was only dressed in his new festive pyjamas that he'd unwrapped just an hour before.

It was finally Christmas morning. Matthew and Gilbert had arranged that their family come earlier on in the day, just so they could spend the day together and enjoy a Christmas lunch as family until the other guests arrived in the hours of dusk. At least it saved them from eating the dinner Arthur had planned. Instead the Brit, although slightly disappointed, brought a bottle of red wine to share.

So far, Ludwig and Feli had yet to arrive.

Gil ruffled his platinum blonde hair, flashing a cheery grin at the visitors.

"_Ja_, come in everyone! Hang your coats up und go into the living room. Mattie's just sorting out the lunch. He'll be joining us in a moment." Once everyone had stripped themselves of their thick coats and winter garments, they were lead into the living room. Holly and tinsel were strung over the fireplace, along with four stockings (Kumajiro and Gilbird were treated this year) and the Christmas tree looked as though it'd been nuked with a festive missile; stringed popcorn and more tinsel bound the bauble covered branches. Candy canes and wrapped chocolates dotted the tree. On the very tippy-top a beautiful silver star was perched and in turn, sat Gilbird on its summit.

"Wow, hey dude, this place looks freakin' sweet!" Alfred piped, plonking himself on the couch next to a curled up Kumajiro. Arthur settled himself in the armchair after handing Gil the bottle of wine, sighing happily with content. The fire had been lit providing the room with warmth – just what he needed after being forced to hike through the snow up to Canada's house.

"Oh… it's been such a long time since I've seen _mon Mathieu_. I wonder 'ow 'e's been." Francis mused, settling himself between America and Kuma.

"Yes, I do hope you've been taking care of him Prussia."

"Ah… let the awesome me get some drinks…" Gil stammered, backing out of the room into the hallway.

"Tea. Milk, two sugars if you please."

"Ah, 'ow about some of the lovely red wine Arthur brought?"

"Piss off, frog, that's for later!"

"Dude, is there any cola? Or milkshake?"

Prussia nodded warily, disappearing behind the door and jogging to the kitchen where Canada was drizzling maple syrup glaze over a bacon-covered joint of pork. Prussia silently tip-toed over with a cheesy grin. He wrapped his arms around the young blonde's ballooned waist. He may have a large lump in his abdomen but on a whole he was still reasonably slim. Perhaps a little chunkier from satisfying his sugary cravings and need to eat extra, but East German had assured the Canadian that he loved him 'squishy' and cute.

"It's almost ready. Another half hour or so." Gilbert buried his nose into the crook of his neck, lifting the Canadian's baggy nightshirt up ever-so-slightly. Like the albino, he was wearing only his night-clothes. By choice, they were a lot more comfortable and actually covered his swollen stomach to make the pregnancy less obvious.

"France, America and England have arrived," He purred planting kisses along the adjacent jawline of his lover. Such soft skin... "They're thirsty."

Matthew sank into the affections uttering low moans of pleasure. He turned his head to awkwardly return the favour.

"There's tea and wine in the larder. I think we've still got some cocoa powder in there too."

The drinks were soon delivered to their patrons; milky tea for Arthur, half a glass of white wine for Francis and maple-sweetened hot chocolate for Alfred.

After exchanging a few words the doorbell rang. Over and over again. Muffled voices could be heard on the outside and lasted until the door opened. One sounded annoyed and unmistakably…

"West!"

"_Guten Tag, Bruder_." A smaller form glanced up, finger still pushed into the doorbell.

"_Ciao_, mister Prussia!"

"Feliciano. Both of you please come in. The others are in the living room. Wine, beer?"

"_Si_!"

"_Nein_. Not right now, it's too early. Ve'll have something to drink vhen ve sit down for lunch." Germany removed his black trench coat and bomber hat as they escaped the frozen world behind them and entered the cosy warmth of the Canadian's den. Hanging his gear up, Ludwig admired the quaint home that his brother now lived in when he wasn't mooching off his own establishment. He could see why now his sibling was always eager to escape the bustling outskirts of Berlin for this isolated home in rural Canada.

"This is a lovely home."

"_Si_!" Feli agreed, peeling his jacket off. "Like Germany's house but bigger! And kinda cleaner!" Italy immediately flung himself against the husky German, playfully grasping his arm whilst apparently ignorant to the insult he'd just blurted. Ludwig rubbed his temples rolling his baby blue eyes in annoyance.

They too were lead to where the first three guests were chatting about their Christmas so far. The volume upped when Feli spotted big brother Francis which ultimately lead to a small and petty argument between himself and the snarky Englishman.

Gilbert retreated back to the kitchen just as Matthew was putting the pork into the oven for its final bake.

"Hey, Mattie. Everyone's here now, including Italy."

"Good… good…" Prussia smiled meekly.

"D'you think now's the time to tell them?"

"Better now than ever I s'pose, eh?"

* * *

The seven nations were nestled in the living room within minutes. A lack of seats meant Germany had to sit on the floor with his Italian boyfriend perched in his lap. Alfred sat crossed legged next to them with his cup of cocoa clutched in both hands. Arthur remained stationary in his armchair; Francis had shifted to the arm of the couch to allow their two hosts to sit side-by-side on the sofa. Kumajiro as a result had been banished to the floor with the other three nations. Matthew drew an across his rounded abdomen, sinking into Gilbert's shoulder with hopes of finding encouragement.

"Hey, everybody… err… m-me and Gilbert have something we need to share with you all…"

"_Ja_… so listen up. It's important!" Everyone was focused purely on the odd pair now, wondering what was wrong. Germany had not wanted to say anything out of order but he simply couldn't help but notice Canada's portly form as he waddled in through the door just moments ago. Nobody else seemed to notice or care, so he too kept his lips firmly shut.

"Is there something wrong, _mon cher_?" France asked, peering glumly into his empty wine glass.

"No… not in that sense, papa… you see, well… I'm actually kind of… pregnant…" Canada's voice cracked, lowering as he went on. "…And eh… Gil's the father." There was an ungainly silence. Gilbert's brow lowered into an uncomfortable frown. Matthew had tensed up, letting his ridged form fall into his partner's own.

"_Mon cher_… that can't be… are you sure?"

"Yeah, man… dudes can't get pregnant, right?" Alfred stammered, glancing over at Arthur who was blushing.

"I-I don't know… I suppose it isn't impossibe, is it?" Arthur reasoned, though not sounding nearly as shocked as one might expect. Francis turned back to the impregnated boy with a shaky smile on his face.

"Y-you're mistaken, _Mathieu_. You're so young-"

"B-but I am, papa! I am! We even checked with the doctor! He said there are records of both male and female nations getting pregnant in the past…!" Matthew protested. Gil nodded slowly, adding to the facts.

"…_Ja_, but it's pretty rare. Once in a blue moon, like baby booms or some shit... _und_ all the Nation born babies are almost always human," Canada was wrapped in tight embrace with slender pale arms. "In other words, _mein_ Mattie is one lucky son of a bitch _und_ I'm awesome!" Matthew sucked in a small breath.

"W-we even have the blood test and ultrasound results… to prove it…" It took a few minutes for it all to sink in. Francis and Arthur were, judging by their expressions, in shock. Alfred was grinning like a Cheshire cat. The whole ordeal was too much for his simple mind to process so he just sat there allowing the thoughts to develop.

"Well..." England spoke softly, as if not to startle himself with the news. "I suppose if the country's experiencing a baby boom or economical market increase, it might play a part in assisting pregnancy. I could find that fairies and unicorns exist, nothing is impossible "

"Ah, _Bruder_…" Germany sighed shaking his head.

"Congratulations! A little _bambino_, how cute!" Italy began tugging needily at his arm, twisting in his lap. "Germany's going to be an uncle, Germany's going to be an uncle!" Arthur grinned fiercly. Sinking back into the couch, he pushed his mug of (now cold) tea and took a sip.

"So, frog, does that make you a grandpa?"

"Well, _Angleterre_, at least I'm something to the baby. What are _you_ in relation to it?" Arthur stared daggers. Cold, green-eyed daggers. He thought for a moment, withdrawing the mug.

"I suppose… I could be an uncle." The Frenchman retorted, the Englishman argued. Both failed to notice the slowly reddening face of the blonde German.

"And another thing, frog-"

**"Shut up! Both of you are being anything but mature!"** Germany bellowed, making the uncomfortably close Italian cower against his chest.

"Hey, listen up! As the hero, I say we-"

**"Shut up America!"**

* * *

Prussia only growled as he led a wide-eyed Mattie from the living room by his hand, uttering what the Canadian assumed to be obscenities in German. Or English. He couldn't tell at this point.

"I think… we should just wait for them to cool down a bit… dontcha think, eh?" Canada asked, turning down the stove.

"_Ja_, maybe," Prussia agreed. "Want any help?" Matthew could sense Gil's growing bad mood. He smiled sweetly and returned to steaming the vegetables.

"No, it's fine, eh. But it's nice to have some company. It's always so lonely, being out in the kitchen by myself." Gilbert wandered over, pulling him into a hug.

"Sorry… I'll try to be here more often-" The kitchen door opened and the face of a certain Frenchman peeked in.

"'Ows _mon petit Mathieu_?" Without turning the pregnant boy in question spoke up.

"Papa, please don't come in." Francis pushed the door further and strolled in casually. It was difficult to tell if he was sober or not by this point; Matthew was sure he'd been drinking before arrival. Francis was known for his habits of drinking morning, noon or night. Hell, he probably had more alcohol coursing through his veins than blood, from the way he pursued his habits!

"What's this? Gilbert, making poor pregnant _Mathieu_ cook by 'imself? 'Onestly, I expected you to at least 'elp 'im, particularly with 'im in such a… delicate position."

"Piss off, Francis." Prussia spat. Bit by bit he was becoming gradually more irritated.

"Papa, please go and tell the others to seat themselves in the dining room. Christmas lunch is almost done." France leaned into Canada, pushing his hands beneath the night shirt to feel the protruding mass of belly. A heated blush grew on the young man's face. Canada couldn't help but squirm; usually he would only expect Prussia to contact him as such, not his own papa.

"Let papa 'elp you, _Matthieu_. Prussia can go, can't 'e? Since 'e's not doing anything else." Immediately Prussia stormed from the kitchen, slamming the door.

"G-Gilbert! Papa! Gil, come back please!" Matthew broke from France and rushed to the door, opening it only to see his boyfriend disappear down the hallway and turn at the flight of stairs that lead to the second floor.

"Papa, please can you dish up and call everyone to lunch? I… I need to find Gil."

"Of course, _mon cher_." Francis was already tying up his hair when Mattie hurried in pursuit of his albino lover. Cooking was, of course, second nature to him after all – even if he was only plopping some potatoes and cheese sauce in some dishes.

* * *

Canada found the room to his bedroom left open. The lights were off and the curtains drawn but slight movement came from the double bed beneath the sheets.

"Prussia?" Canada waddled towards the bed, one hand pinned anxiously to his belly. He'd estimated that the baby would be arriving anytime between today and next week. The young nation was certainly looking forward to losing all the baby weight and regaining his natural slim form. Plus, the fact that he would be a mommy was another win.

"I know you're there, Prussia. I can see your foot sticking out of the covers. And you're moving." Beneath the covers the East German wriggled about until the sheets rolled past his head, revealing those deep crimson eyes contrasted against ghostly flesh and hair.

"France is such an _arschloch_, Mattie," Canada sat himself on the edge of the bed, back to the other. "It's because I haven't been spending time with him _und_ Spain, I know it. He's jealous und now we have a little one on the way…" Prussia crawled over, embracing Canada with the blanket still hanging from his shoulders shrouding them both in crisp warmth. "I'm sorry for storming out like that..." He added. Canada sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Hey,_ Ich liebe dich. Du machst mich glücklich und Ich bete dich an_." Matthew listened to his boyfriend speak in his mother-tongue. Although he barely spoke a lick of German himself, Gilbert had said these words enough times for him to had an idea to what he was saying.

"_Embrasses-moi_, Gilbert."

"Kesesese… you're so cute when you're like this."

"_Embrasses-moi_, Gilbert." The Prussian complied, leaning in. The pair locked lips, parting them ever-so-slightly as the display of affection grew all the more intimate. Gilbert was the first to push into the warm, moist cavern, exploring every crevice with his curious tongue. Matthew let out a small giggle when the albino's hands slid into his pyjama pants and pressed against his bottom whilst giving them a firm squeeze.

A sharp knock on the open door however did happen to spoil the moment prompting Matthew to pull away with a jerk of his head.

"Hey, dudes, lunch is up! C'mon!" There was America, grinning like a fool. It didn't seem to bother him that he'd ruined such a lovely moment for the couple. All he knew was the orders he'd been assigned and as the hero, he made it his mission to see that he succeeded.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha! What are you guys doin'?" A slightly agitated Canadian snatched a pillow from the bed and hurled it at their doorway spectator.

**"Hoser!"**

* * *

The three of them descended the flight of stairs, Alfred charging miles ahead at the promise of food. Upon entering the dining room they found Arthur setting the table. Kumajiro had already claimed his seat at the head of the table and was resting his nose just inches from his empty plate.

"Christmas dinner is served~!" Feliciano sang out, entering just moments after. In his hands he was holding a large ceramic dish containing crispy roast potatoes with a serving spoon sticking out. Following on was Ludwig with the gravy and dish of mixed veg. Both plonked their cargo on the table and returned to the kitchen just as Francis came in with the bottle of wine that Arthur had brought.

"Mm, Lascar Merlot. You 'ave a fine taste in wine,_ Angleterre_ – for a tea-sucking punk." England bit his tongue to hold back a few choice words. He would be the bigger man here. He wouldn't upset their hosts again, he would prevail…!

France opened the bottle and began to fill everyone's glass. Nobody seemed to notice the Frenchman jolt suddenly when he neared Arthur. Francis quickly retreated from the room, secretly rubbing the sore spot where the Brit had struck him with a well-placed kick.

"_Mon cher_, what are you going to drink? Surely wine cannot be good for the baby." Gil pulled out a chair and helped the young Canadian into it, pushing him in after. His ruby eyes glared darkly at his lover's 'papa' but he eventually broke the stare before he could notice.

"Ah... there's some milk in the fridge, Mattie. Be back in a moment." Matthew nodded nonchalantly, apparently deep in thought. He was resting back into the chair stroking his ballooned belly rather absently. Arthur seated himself opposite with Alfred happily joining him. All was quiet until Francis disappeared out of the room, probably to help Feli and Ludwig.

"So bro, when're you gonna be poppin' the lil' sucker out?"

"Alfred!" America received a sharp slap to the back of his head. He shot England a hurt look who returned it with another smack. "Don't be so vulgar!"

"Hey, calm down man… I was only askin'. The hero wants to know when he'll become an uncle!"

Canada sat there watching as his brother and England argued pettily. He didn't even notice as Italy, Germany, Prussia and France re-entered the dining room with the rest of the Christmas lunch. Once the dishes were arranged around the table and Arthur questioning why there was a bowl of freshly cooked pasta, everyone began to dig in.

Only Prussia seemed to notice how quiet Canada had become. He only partook in small-talk, and that was when he was simply asked something about the weather or his economy or some other pointless crap. Everyone somehow seemed to be avoiding the topic of Matt's pregnancy although Gil simply figured that was for the best. All the Canadian did was eat his dinner, plus seconds and thirds, and sip at the pint of maple syrup laced milk that had been brought in.

"When can we be expecting the others to arrive?" England asked, tasting the wine.

"Uh… sometime around half past five. Austria said he _und_ Hungary might be a bit earlier… four, I think." Gilbert said, helping himself to another slice of maple-pork.

"Mathieu, you've been very quiet since we sat down… _Vous sentez-vous malade_?"

"Non, Papa… I'm fine… just a little tired… been cooking since eight, been up since seven…"

"Alright luv," Arthur set his glass down. "After this, you go and have a rest. We'll clean up before the others arrive." He spoke with sympathy; although he could never know what it was like to be carrying another living thing inside his body, Arthur could only imagine how exhausting it was and the toll it took on the body.

Frankly he couldn't imagine a worse kind of torture.

"Oui, 'ave a nice lie down and we'll take care of things." Francis agreed, already piling the empty plates. "They won't be 'ere for another three hours, so there's plenty of time!"


	3. The Party Gets 'Going'

**Chapter 2:**** The Party Gets 'Going'**

******Date:** **25th December, 2012**

* * *

By the time Austria and Hungary arrived at 4pm, Canada was tucked up in bed. The kitchen had been tidied and dishes cleaned, with dessert being postponed until the young blonde woke from his slumber – much to Alfred's disappointment.  
Prussia had scurried upstairs when the newest arrivals had been taken aside to be let the news; he couldn't face either of them if they decided to start teasing him. Or if Hungary decided to hit him for getting a _male_ nation many years younger pregnant. Either way, he didn't want to know.

Easing the door open, Gilbert tip-toed into the bedroom. He decided to get dressed before everyone else arrived. He'd leave Matthew to decide what he wanted. Jeans and a hoodie would probably serve to be fairly uncomfortable given his current state.

Gil opened the wardrobe and reached for his favourite long sleeve shirt, pastel blue in colour. It took a moment to find it because he hadn't switched the bedroom light on but he took caution not to cause too much noise whilst fumbling about. When he located the garment he put it over his shoulder. Next Gilbert plucked a pair of black flat-front pants from a hanger. He stripped his current clothes off, flinging them onto the bed and pulled the clean ones on.

"Mm… Gil, is that you?" Prussia turned to see Canada lying on his back with his head turned on the pillow. He strained his violet eyes to see his boyfriend but gave in to reaching for his glasses. His eyesight in regular light wasn't terrific, so the darkness of the room proved to be none the better.

"_Ja_, it's me Mattie. How're you feeling?" Pushing his specs further onto the bridge of his nose he managed to sit himself up. A hand was drawn to his abdomen.

"Mm… I'm okay… but my stomach's cramping a little... it hurts just a little."

"Is that what woke you?"

"Yeah… that and you're really noisy."

"_Kesesese_… yeah, well I'm awesome like that. Hungary _und_ Austria are here… d'you want to come downstairs to see them? That _dummkopf _Alfred's dying to have dessert; we've been waiting for you to wake up." Matthew nodded sleepily. Gilbert helped him to pull on his bathrobe and slippers then lead him to the door. Downstairs they could hear cheerful laughter coming from Feliciano, Alfred and Elizabeta. Apparently everyone was in high spirits, which wasn't a bad thing considering the day so far.

* * *

"Ah, _mon cher_! Did you sleep well?" Francis was heading to the kitchen with several emptied wine glasses when the couple descended the staircase.

"_Oui_, papa I did, thank you." Matthew smiled wiping the sticky sleep from his half-lidded eyes. He was still overcome with fatigue but figured he could just lie on the couch for a bit if he needed.

"Oh… go and see Hungary and Austria, _Mathieu_. We've told them about your, erm… _petit _problem."

"Problem, Francis?" Prussia hissed venomously, narrowing those blood-red eyes - if looks could kill, Francis would be stone cold and disintergrated. Was the Frenchman implying that there was something wrong with his boyfriend pregnant and carrying their kid?

"Ah ha, of course not, Prussia… just don't worry, _oui_?" At that he padded up to the kitchen humming loudly to himself as proof of his semi-drunken state.

The living room was overcome with a brief hush when Prussia and Canada entered. The mutual feeling of awkwardness lasted what seemed like minutes before the Hungarian woman clasped her hands together. She was wearing a beautiful green and white frock with lacing around the collar and a soft green cardigan on top of it. Austria on the other hand simply wore a white dress shirt with a navy blazer and matching pants. Casual didn't seem to be on his agenda.

"Oh, Matthew," She beamed, approaching with outstretched arms. "Congratulations! How are you feeling… tired? Achy?" Locking him into a welcoming hug she pushed her chin over his shoulder. Prussia regarded her cautiously, taking a smart step in retreat.  
_You got him pregnant?! _She mouthed, eyeing him dangerously. All Gilbert could do was grin a little sheepishly whilst moving to avoid any possible advances.

"Who wants dessert?" France was in the doorway clutching a plastic serving tray piled high with bowls containing fruit cake with ice cream and spoons.

Hungary continued to fawn over the boy. She and Prussia sat on either side of him on the couch, Eliza chattering away whilst Gilbert tried to feed him the cake and apparently taking great pleasure in seeing him chew and swallow each sweet bite.

"Have you thought of any names for it yet? Do you even know what it is?" She asked, leaning into Matt's arm.

"N-no… we chose not to know during the ultrasound…"

"I like Wilfred for a boy. Or Gilbert Junior." Gil announced, pushing another spoonful into Mattie's mouth.

"We've talked about those ones… no."

"Chloris? That's an awesome girl name."

"Can't we choose something we both like? How about Anthony? Or Charlie? That could work for a boy or girl."

"Why don't we just call it 'Awesome'?"

The pair continued to quarrel about the desired name. Austria smirked darkly when Hungary too rejected Prussia's suggestions and sided with Canada's, stating that since he was going to be it's mother, he should be allowed to choose.

"But if it's gonna have Mattie's surname, why can't I choose the first name?" Gilbert protested, feeding the last scoop of ice cream and cake into his partner."How about Benjamin?"

"Benjamin…? Gil, you've mentioned that name before. And I'm not changing my mind." Prussia smiled daringly. He'd pestered Matthew with that name every time this particular conversation came up, often with them stopping after a small argument. Canada had agreed that Gilbert could choose the first name – as long as they both liked it and as long as the child held 'Williams' as its surname.

The doorbell suddenly rang in its usual cheery-tone. Everyone glanced up at the closed living room door expectantly, wondering who would leave the warmth of the lounge to see to the visitors outside.

"_Ve…_I'll get it!" Feli finally announced, bouncing from the room. Some muffled shouts of enjoy from the young Italian and the slamming of the door made everyone else exchange looks of curiosity. When the living room door opened for the second time, Italy was grinning.

"_Fratello's_here!" He said. Into the room Romano and Spain were following. Both wore similar oak-brown winter coats and wool scarves; red and yellow for Spain, plain green for Roma. The grumpy shivering Italian had his head between squared shoulders whilst a genuinely jolly Spain brushed snow from their shoulders.

"_Amigos_, it's freezing out there!" He chuckled brightly, unbuttoning his coat.

"Hey why is that potato bastard here?!" Romano exclaimed, pointing at Ludwig. The German, whom was re-seated on the ground with his back to the radiator, simply sighed when Feliciano fell back into his lap, and ignored the harsh words of the other.  
Why did Lovino and Feli have to be so… different?

"How the hell can you be pregnant?! You're just a fat bastard because you live with a damn German!"

"Aw, Roma, are you jealous? Does Roma want a baby too?" Spain giggled, teasing Romano with a hug. One couldn't help but wonder if that was Spain's way of being serious, on the other hand.

**"S-shut up! Fucking bastard!"**

Matthew bit his quivering lip. He didn't know Romano all that well but he knew the older boy wasn't playfully fooling around. And what hurt the most were such bitterly-spat insults that slipped from his mouth. Gilbert soothingly rubbed Matthew's back urging him to lean into his shoulder.

"Hey Romano, why be such a jerk, huh? Can't you be happy for a change? We all know you can be happy sometimes! Just smile!" Antonio asked. Lovino snorted, moving away from his pettily abused victim.

"Don't be jealous, _fratello_!" Italy chimed. "Maybe you and Spain can babysit for Canada one day! Then big brother can spend all the time he wants with _bambino_!"

"Maybe, I guess we could visit sometimes-" Mattie began, only to be cut.

"But we're not leaving Spain alone with _mein _awesome kid! Nein way!"

"It's _'our'_ kid…" Matthew quietly reminded, snuggling in closer with a content sigh. Elizabeta smiled, collecting up his and Gil's dishes and promptly returning them to the tray that they'd been brought in on.

Arthur and Alfred had told herself and Roderich not long after the albino had scurried upstairs. Roderich… seemed rather uncomfortable. Perhaps the Austrian was was in a slight state of shock with the whole 'Canada is pregnant' concept. Elizabeta too had been rather sceptical that is, until Matthew made an appearance.  
For a little while everyone conversed in their own topics of choice; France, Spain and a hesitant Romano joined Prussia by the couch to chat; Canada humbly spoke to Hungary, Italy and Germany. Austria and England, deciding not to delve into idiotic conversation with the Italians or Spaniard or Frenchman stuck together and made simple (uncomfortable) small talk between them.

"I-it's kicking…" Matthew mused, bringing a second hand to his belly. He'd long since pulled off the dressing gown and slippers until he was in only his large night shirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Ooh… can I feel?"

"_Ve_, me too!" In turn Matthew took their hands and set them delicately upon his person. Each squealed with delight when they felt the subtle movement of an unborn life fidgetting restlessly within the cramp space of Matt's abdomen.

"When are you due, Canada?" Hungary asked.

"Erm… anytime… really. January at the very latest, eh. I've already been feeling small cramps every so often…" Arthur had broken his conversation with Roderich and both appeared behind Ludwig.

"You never mentioned you were that far along, luv," The Englishman crouched down for his turn with feeling the kicks. He was rewarded with small movements as the child nation stirred. "I thought you were perhaps in the six or seventh month…"

"Uncle Germany should feel too!" Feliciano sang, wavering his arms. Ludwig shook his head in denial. The macho blonde found it rather… odd. Odd that a man was pregnant even if there was cold-hard physical evidence. He stubbornly turned his head away, shaking his head decisively.

"C'mon West!" Prussia leaned forward and snatched his brother's hand, bringing it upon his lover's abdomen.

"Be careful!" Hungary hissed, sharply slapping Prussia across the shoulder. He recoiled after her scolding but Germany's hand remained in place. An odd look of concentrated fascination was plastered across his face. Dumbstruck, Canada had thought. He expected the broad nation to immediately jerk his hand off but it remained in place.

"_Ve…_ what's wrong, Germany? What's with the funny stare?" Italy needily wrapped his arms around the German's waist, gradually worming his way into Ludwig's lap. By that time Ludi had withdrawn his palm and buried his face into Feliciano's chestnut-red mop to hide a small blush of delight.  
To think he'd just felt the movement of his little nephew or niece. It was almost embarrassing; the way he felt, that is. That he could feel so giddy yet so excited over such a unnaturally-natural thing.

"Ha-ha! West, you should see the look on your face! It's awesome!"

* * *

Over the course of the next couple hours, the remainder of the guests arrived; first Kiku arrived with his little white dog, Pochi, then Yao turned up shortly afterwards. When they were told the news, unexpected results were met; whilst Kiku did nothing more than smile. Yao was horrified. Not because the old nation thought it was wrong but it worried him. His own first-hand experience with children had put him through a testament of trials… particularly with that free-spirited little Im Yong Soo and his care-free tendencies.

"Aiyaa! Don't you realise how difficult raising a child is, _aru_?"

"Bloody hell, China! Don't put the boy off! It's not that difficult, raising a child."

"Starting another fight, Angleterre? Tsk, tsk."

"I'll start something, frog! Wind your neck in and drink your damned wine!" Francis put on a faux pouty face, taking another sip of his third glass. That bottle was starting to look pretty empty.

"Please… please don't argue…" Canada began, watching as Hungary got up to settle the two nations.

_Ding dong. Ding dong._

America looked up from teasing Pochi with a bauble that had fallen from the tree some time ago.

"Hey, dudes, were we expecting anyone else?" Alfred walked over to the window and leaned against the glass. He could make out two shapes by the door; one rather tall, broad and dressed in a heavy winter coat , the other shorter and shivering with dark shoulder-length hair.

"H-hey… that's…?"

"_Ve_! I'll get it!" Italy sprang up, bouncing from the room to answer the door.

Moments later, Italy reappeared.

"Look, everyone! Russia and Lithuania are here!" The towering Russian filed into the room with his coat and gloves still on. His signature tan-pink scarf was draped over his shoulders, wrapping his chin and neck in its luxury warmth. Ivan raised one hand, waving it subtly in greeting.

"Hello, everyone," Toris appeared quietly at his side, smiling shyly. "I brought Lithuania. I thought journey would be lonely so he came for company." Prussia screwed his face up with disgust. He despised the Russian with an absolute passion, moreso now that he was in his home – not even by his or Mattie's own invite. That damned American.

"I sit down, _da_?" Ivan gestured at the couch, where Elizabeta had been sitting. Gilbert pulled Matthew onto his lap, hugging him protectively as if with fear that the Russian might try to take him.

"Yes… of course, Ivan. Please sit down, eh."

The chatter in the room steadily grew once again to a level most appeasing to Prussia. He soon joined in again with his usual jolly loudness. England was perched on the arm of the couch next to Russia, speaking in monotone about the day so far. Lithuania timidly joined in also but was unable to get a word in edge-ways. Prussia pulled Canada deep into his lap until he was close enough to lean over and rest his chin on the blonde's shoulder. Their own private conversation began.

"Mattie… I thought only Russia was coming?"

"H-he did say the journey would be lonely… besides, it's not like room is limited, eh."

"I know, I know… just… please just don't let yourself be alone with him, okay?" Matthew leaned in, pushing his lips to his partner's.

"_Oui_. I promise."

"Oh _Matvey_ is expecting, _da_?" Ivan suddenly exclaimed, glancing up at Toris who returned a rather flustered smile. Arthur had told him. "Wonderful."

"Don't get any ideas, Russia." Gil sneered. Ivan turned, his fierce amethyst eyes fixing to the crimson orbs.

"Surely I don't know what you're talking about. Right, Lithuania?"

"A-ah! Y-yes, Russia, sir!" Canada twisted slightly so that he was now leaning sideways into Gil's chest, facing the new guests. His glasses were slipping forward on his nose but the young nation didn't seem to care.

Francis flounced over, splashing drops of wine on the clean beige carpet. The 'mature' man was more than a little tipsy and feeling frisky after witnessing the small sign of affection between one of his best friends and adopted son.

"_Honhonhon_… what is going on 'ere, _mon cher_?" Arthur stepped up beside the Frenchman wearing a sympathetic smile. He was obviously more sober and thus aware of what would probably happen next if he didn't somehow save the happy couple.

"Gilbert, why don't you take Matthew up to bed? He looks knackered." Nodding, Matthew was hoisted up to be carried bridal style.

"Ngh… Gil…" The Canadian was already overcome with a new wave of fatigue and was finding it rather difficult to keep those bright violet optics open.

"Be careful with 'im," Francis slurred, planting a kiss on his groggy son's forehead. "_Bonne nuit, mon petit garçon_."

"_Bo… nu…it… papa…_"

After a small series of 'thank yous' and 'good nights', assuming that they weren't to see Matthew for the rest of the evening, Prussia carried Canada up to their room. On their way out Gil couldn't help but feel a sort of devilish aura emanating from Ivan, along with a fiercely intimidating grin… no. He was just imagining it. Right?

Quickly changing his night shirt and helping him to brush his teeth in the ensuite, Matthew was at last put to bed.

Gil laid next to him for a moment, holding him against his chest, hands slipped beneath his clothing. Small movements indicated the child was kicking. One of his hands slipped from the warmth of Matt's belly and was redirected to his sandy locks. He loved running his pale fingers through that hair, callousing it with every stroke. Usually then the Canadian would react needily, pushing his head into the touch like a spoilt kitten wishing to be petted. But at the moment, he wasn't getting such a strong reaction. Matthew was just too exhausted.

Minutes passed and Gil eventually shifted away from Matt. He kissed his forehead and removed his glasses, placing them on the dresser within his reach. Kumajiro was suddenly there climbing onto the bed. The Prussian hadn't noticed the little bear's arrival but was forced to tuck his boyfriend back in after the Polar bear tore back the sheets.

"_Gute Nacht_, Mattie."

"Good night." Kuma chirped, partly curling up with his nose rested on Matt's belly. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"_Gute Nacht_, Kumajiro." Gil ruffled the bear's fur the wrong way as revenge for further delaying him. He left the bedroom door ajar, and then descended the stairs to join his guests. From the corridors he could hear the keys of a piano playing a merry tune; there was one in the old music room. It was a room that rarely used by neither Canada nor Prussia, let alone use the grand piano that made its permanent home there. But it was a fine beast; a beautiful polished black with keys untouched by sticky fingers.

Nonetheless…  
Gilbert pushed the music room door open. All of the guests were either standing or sitting around the instrument. Arthur and Francis had brought in a few chairs from the dining room and were enjoying some extra wine taken from kitchen. Ivan sipped his bottle of vodka with a smile. Elizabeta, Alfred and Feliciano were trying to convince the more sober guests to sing with them just as Roderich began playing 'Twelve Days of Christmas' by request. Lovino was poking fun at a nonchalant Ludwig, accusing him of being a coward for not wishing to sing whilst funnily enough his own lips remained tight.

Nonetheless, having this company was wonderful. He couldn't wait to spend next Christmas the same way, with a brand new little face joining them. Hell! Next year he might ask Mattie to invite Berwald and Tino to join them! Maybe that Cuba guy too! He was one of Mattie's friends right?

**"Hey, the awesome me is here! Let's get this party started, _ja_!"**


	4. Boxing Day

**Chapter 3:**** Boxing Day**

This chapter is significantly shorter than the previous few. More like a filler.

**Date:** **26th December, 2012**

* * *

Sunlight seeped in through the crack between the drawn curtains, sending streaks across the dim bedroom. Clothes were strewn all over the bedroom floor. The thought of depositing them in the untouched laundry bin in the ensuite bathroom had obviously been neglected for a much simpler option.

A lone form stirred beneath the wrinkled bed sheets, stretching. Gilbert slowly propped himself up against the pillows, yawning. His ruby eyes were hooded with dark rings accompanied with a pounding headache. What had he done last night…?  
He brought a hand up to rub his temples, trying to stimulate his memory.

Ah. That's right. He challenged West to a game of Drink. He'd gone down to the cellar, gotten several bottles of wine for the others and a couple six-packs of frosty beer only for West to reject his challenge. Mattie never approved of his heavy drinking and for the past few months he'd did his best to hold off drinking alcohol or caffeine around his pregnant lover. It was whenever he was alone that he managed to slip a beer or two in – never enough to get him totally drunk. He had a high alcohol tolerance that came in handy often.  
Mattie… speaking of him… where was he?

Gil glanced at the spot beside him in the bed where Matthew usually slept. His slippers and robe were gone too. Kumajiro wasn't at the foot of the bed like always neither.

"Mmf… Mattie?" The albino groaned. He was still feeling groggy with fatigue and booze, wanting nothing more than to sleep for another couple hours until the hangover passed. Oh God… what if he saw him come to bed absolutely pissed out of his mind? The more the German thought, the more he realised he couldn't exactly recall what happened in the last hours of the night between drinking nearly a dozen cans of beer and going to bed. It then occurred to Gil that he, at that point, was lying in bed completely naked.

After throwing a pair of purple plaid boxers on and one of his new shirts (another Christmas present from Canada), he ambled out onto the landing. A rich battery smell wafted to him from the kitchen leading him forwards with a hungry smile.  
Silent as a mouse the East German slipped through the kitchen door. Matthew had his back to him and was tending to breakfast. Gilbert was especially fond of his pancakes with that sweet floral honey that his country was very famous for. Creeping forward, Gil considered the best way to playfully scare the boy without causing him to go into labour or a hot frying pan to the skull.

"Good morning, Gil. Sleep well?" Gil exhaled loudly in disappointment. How the hell did he know he was there?

"_Guten Morgen… ja_but I have a splitting head ache." Mattie turned with a giggle, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"As soon as we've had something to eat, I'll get you some pain killers, eh." Gilbert frowned. He wandered over to one of the drawers where they kept an assortment of odds and ends, including some packeted types of medicine. He opened it up and fished around.

"What's wrong with taking some now _und_eating after?" He pulled out a small box of aspirin, only to find it empty. Matthew bit his lip, watching as the albino dropped the box back into the draw.

"Throw it away, Gil… there's no point in keeping it, eh." Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Just tell me where the other tablets are." The Canadian plated half of the pancakes and thrusted it into his boyfriend's hands.

"After breakfast, eh. You can't have headache pills without something in your stomach!" He could tell by Matthew's firm tone that he was starting to get slightly annoyed, so Gil simply sat up at the breakfast bar without trying to upset him. When alone, they ate most of their meals in either the lounge or on the breakfast bar, saving the dining room for when company was afoot.

Minutes later, Canada joined him with his stack of pancakes, made to his liking. Prussia couldn't help but stare when he noted the various toppings beside the usual maple syrup: sliced bananas, a handful of chopped walnuts, blueberries, chocolate sauce, strawberry jam… and even a pot of Greek yogurt had been poured over the concoction.  
During Matt's last check-up with the nation doctor Gil had been assured that these 'cravings' were natural during the months of pregnancy. Nothing to worry about although Gil personally found some of the combinations to be fairly rancid. But he daren't complain. As long as his Cana was happy, so was he.

As promised, once Matthew finished his breakfast he waddled upstairs to the ensuite and found the pain killers in the medicine cabinet and brought them down. Gilbert had already started to wash the dishes and clean up, so Matthew went around with a laundry basket and collected. His only difficulty was in the bedroom where he couldn't bend down to grab the clothes on the floor. Ah well. That's what Kumajiro was useful for.

* * *

"Gil?"  
Prussia popped his head around the kitchen door, wiping his hands with a tea towel. Canada was standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding a long tan scarf from the basket.

"_Ja_?"

"Is this your scarf?" Prussia scowled.

"Where'd you find it?"

"On the coat pegs, eh. Is it yours?" Prussia shook his head. He didn't recall owning anything other than a plaid red bandanna scarf.

"_Nein_, doesn't belong to the awesome me… maybe one of the guys left it last _nacht_?" Mattie examined the scarf a little more thoroughly.

"Wasn't Russia wearing a scarf when he came in? Maybe it's his," Gil felt his blood begin boil at the thought, and his eyes bulge into large crimson bubbles when Mattie suggested the unthinkable.

"Maybe we should bring it over to him. He'll want it back."

"Like hell you will!" The silver-head darted from behind the door and snatched the scarf.

"Gilbert!"

"If that vodka-drinking _arschloch_wants his precious scarf back, he'll have to come and get it in person!" Canada whimpered a little. Why was Prussia using such scary tone? Surely there was nothing wrong with returning a precious belonging back to Ivan, was there?

Gilbert didn't comprehend what was going through the little Canadian's head until it was too late. Big fat tears were rolling down his plump pinken cheeks, leaving behind distinct trails in their wake.

"Mattie…" There goes the hormone again… He thought, moving in to begin the comforting session. "_Es tut mir Leid…_I didn't mean to snap."

"Y-y-you didn't n-need to b-be s-so sharp…" Canada sniffled, falling into Prussia's arms with a hiccup. Nuzzling his scalp, Gil sighed.

"I didn't mean it… hey… calm down…"

As much as Gilbert loved the boy, his mood swings during the pregnancy were getting to be a pain in his ass. God, he hoped Matthew wouldn't get knocked up again after this kid. He couldn't imagine what was going through Matt's mind or whether or not he would actually want another child. Nah. If Canada wanted to talk about having more kids, Prussia was more than certain that he'd bring it up rather than secretly dwell on the idea and hope it happens.

"**A-aah**! Ah! G-Gil…!"

"W-what's wrong? Mattie?" Gilbert pulled Matthew away from his body, face contorted with confusion. Matthew sniffed back some tears, thrusting a hand to his abdomen.

"I-it hurts… my stomach… damn..."

"You're not in labour, are you?!" He rubbed his belly for a moment before finally replying.

"No… I don't think so… I think it's just cramps again…"

"R-really?! _Gott sei Dank…_are you feeling alright?"

Matthew nodded. He tried leaning back into Prussia but was stopped. Strong, bony fingers grasped his shoulders firmly.  
"Listen to me. I don't want you going to Russia's, alright? Not just because I don't trust him… but I don't want something to happen to you on the way over. Understand?"


	5. A Trip To Moscow

**Chapter 4:**** A Trip To Moscow**

******Date:** **26th December, 2012**

* * *

Canada listened to Prussia.

Guilt panged him. He wanted to take the scarf back to its rightful owner. It belonged wrapped around Ivan's broad neck, not bundled in the downstairs store cupboard. Gilbert, alarmed by how near the baby's birth was, went out to fetch more supplies including diapers and some baby formula.

Matthew was sitting on the couch, the T.V remote in-hand. But apart from some crappy Christmas television movies and some holiday specials re-runs, there was nothing really worth watching. After he settled on an animated version of 'A Christmas Carol' and leaned back against the couch. The movie was about an hour into it already. Although he'd seen variants of the film many times before, if he hadn't seen the beginning then he couldn't get into it and all the rest lost meaning.

_Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring._

Matthew turned his head towards the phone on the coffee table next to his side of the sofa. He hesitated for a moment then reached for the receiver.

"Hello...?"

"Hello?" Canada blinked. Ivan? "_Da…_hello?"

"Oh… um… hello, Ivan… a-are you alright?"

"_Da_, I am fine."

"Oh… good."

"But I am calling about something. It seems I have misplaced my favourite scarf. I came home early hours of morning without it."

"We actually have it here…"

"Oh, really? That's wonderful! Please bring it over soon, _da_?" Canada bit at his abused lip. He'd promised Prussia he wouldn't go far from the house, just in case. At such a delicate time he had to be prepared.

"I-I'm sorry, Ivan but I don't think I can… can't you come over?"

"No, no. My sisters are over and Belarus wouldn't be happy if I went out alone. My big sister Ukraine gave me scarf. It means a lot to me, _da_."

* * *

Why did I agree?

Canada asked himself, marching up the snowy garden path an hour and a half later and a familiar scarf bundled in the pocket of his heavy coat.  
He felt bad for saying no to Ivan. But he was also slightly afraid. Ivan's normally childish tone harshened ever-so-slightly with threat. So, the timid Canadian agreed to show up within a couple of hours. Gilbert had called just beforehand to say he'd be stopping off at Ludwig's to pick more clothes up, so he felt safe with the knowledge that Gil wouldn't know until they were both back home, snuggled by the fire with Kuma and Gilbird with mugs of maple-sweented coco.

Still, that didn't stop the increase of painful twinges that occurred within the boy making each step gradually but noticeably more difficult. Up the frosted lane, Canada spotted the form of a large mansion, styled in 19th century gothic architecture. The great looming building cast an eerie shadow over the vast gardens that it towered above. Although it was beautiful Canada couldn't help but shudder nervously. In that respect it was well-suited for the Russian man.

The house was set on a slight hill, half a mile from Moscow, and was proving to be a challenge for the heavily pregnant boy. He whimpered with another cramp but pressed on bravely. By the time he reached the door he was exhausted. Perhaps they'd let him in to warm up first, maybe to catch his breath and have a drink. A bite to eat would be nice.

"I-I wonder if he has maple syrup." He murmured lips blue and quivering as a result from the bitter winds of the Russian winter. He reached for the great brass door knocker and banged it against the wood. The wait was rather brief. Within moments of the final knock, the door opened and in its place stood Lithuania.

"Canada? Oh, Russia said you'd be coming," He stood aside. "Come in, won't you?" Matthew followed his gestures and walked through into the foyer.

"Thank you, Lithuania… ngh… d-do you mind if I sit for a minute? My ankles are killing me." Toris closed the door and began walking towards the living room.

"That shouldn't be a problem. You rest, I'll fetch Russia."

Lithuania noted Canada's waddling pace as he tried to keep up. Toris had offered to hang the Canadian's favourite tan coat up but Matthew was having none of that; he firmly stated that as soon as Ivan was reunited with his scarf and he'd gathered his strength, he would be on his way. Respecting his wishes yet extremely anxious and aware of his condition Toris complied.

Matthew was finally settled in the lounge. He leaned back into the olive green couch, burying his nose into the collar of his coat. Despite the cold outside, it was rather toasty inside. Perhaps Ivan disliked the freezing cold as much as he did?.

When Toris left the room, the sharp cramps began again, twisting and contracting with every passing moment. Back at home, when Gil was around, the albino would tell him to relax whilst rubbing his belly in wide circular motions. Then a little while afterwards the pain would usually cease. But now, poor Mattie had to suffer through without release.

Toris knew precisely where Ivan was. Before descending downstairs to tend to some after-Christmas dusting, he'd been serving the Russian up in his study. Bringing him tea, sorting the bookshelves and whatnot.

"Russia, sir? Canada's arrived… I assume you want to see him?" When the study door opened, Russia tilted his head. The soft tone he spoke in didn't happen to conceal the severe threat he hinted.

"Lithuania. It is polite to knock, _da_? Do it next time." The tall broad man stood from his seat, brushing past a shuddering Toris on his way out.

"Ooh… Canada, is everything okay?" Russia popped his head around the doorway. Ukraine was already inside, sitting next to a doubled over Canada. The boy was whimpering softly. Only by biting his tongue he was able to hold back his cries. Ivan blinked, and then walked in rather casually.

"Hello. How is everyone?" After he'd arrived home, the other members of the household including Belarus and Ukraine had been told of the pregnant Canadian. Maria glanced up with worry in her eyes.

"Ooh… I'm sorry Ivan… but Matthew's not feeling well…" She took the younger blonde's hand in her's.

"I-it'll pass in a minute," Matthew tried to assure them with a smile. "I've been getting cramps a lot lately… **a-a-ah**!" Russia simply smiled with faux sympathy. Ukraine comforted the boy. She managed to convince Matt to lean into her, an arm wrapped across his shoulders whilst she occasionally gave his hand a small squeeze.

It was when Matthew felt a warm wetness rapidly grow around his legs that he felt panic rise within his chest, choking his thoughts. Glancing down quite suddenly caused Maria to follow his gaze.

"I-I-I-" He stammered with a blush, his grip on the large-breasted woman becoming vice-like.

"Ivan, I think Matthew's water broke! I'm sorry; I'll have the mess cleaned up!" But Ivan didn't seem to react any differently. Infact, the dubious man was strangely very calm.

"No. It's okay. I'll have Lithuania clean it up. Take Matvey to the guest room, _da_?" Maria nodded, promptly leading Mattie at a dire pace. As they passed the Russian he heard them speak; mostly it was Maria trying to calm the sobbing blonde.

"Don't cry, sweetie… do you think you can make it up the stairs to the first floor? Don't worry, it'll be okay!" She questioned, rubbing his back. Matt couldn't really feel the affections through his heavy clothing but nonetheless her words alone were soothing enough. But she couldn't beat Gil's company.  
Damn! Why didn't he listen to that lovable albino hoser?!

Eventually, Matthew found himself upstairs and inside the small guest bedroom. Maria called for the Baltics, whom were just next door, to fetch one of Russia's spare night shirts, a bowl of warm water, some clean cloths, cotton and a sterilised pair of kitchen scissors.

Latvia quickly reappeared with the extra large button-up garment but the others had yet to return.

Canada's face went hot, a deep scarlet blush forming across his face when Ukraine began stripping off his coat and then the rest of his clothes off until he was sitting in only his soiled boxer shorts. Only by glancing up he realised the feeling was mutual.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She kept muttering whenever she found her eyes wandering across his toned chest and arms, then below the large swollen lump that was the concealed child. The boxers were finally cast aside and Matthew was settled into the bed, against a pile of pillows.

Maria rolled the sheets back from his legs and perched herself on the bed. Desperate cries of growing agony filled the room, calling for help, begging for the pain to stop. But the large-chested girl had some mild labour experience with farm animals… and she knew this wouldn't be any easier for Matthew than it would be for a cow.  
She spoke softly, finally manging to convince Matthew to take long, deep breaths.

Canada knew that if he'd been home alone, he'd probably be in trouble right now. That an ambulance wouldn't be able to reach his isolated home-in-the-snow and that Gil wasn't around.

Canada was glad he didn't listen to Prussia. Sort of.


	6. Canadian In Captivity

**Chapter 5:**** Canadian In Captivity**

Violence/Abuse is hinted/implied in this chapter.

**Date:** **26th December, 2012**

* * *

"That's right, sweetie. Nice deep breaths." Ukraine instructed, demoing with hand gestures and deep elongated breaths. She glanced over at the door where the three Baltics were standing, staring with a mixture of awe, disbelief and terror in their wide eyes. Maria was beginning to find it fairly difficult to both ease Matthew and check the delivery.

"I'm sorry for being a pain… but please, one of you, please comfort Canada, okay?" Lithuania found himself hurrying over to take over that particular duty whilst the remaining two waited for further orders.

No one in the room noticed Russia standing in the doorway, Belarus clutching his side possessively. She'd heard the moaning cries and came running, initially deciding Latvia had done something to provoke her big brother. If so, she had a delightfully vicious punishment in store for the boy!

But, she was only met with disappointment.

* * *

Canada's head fell into the pillow. Saliva drooled from his lips leaving a sticky trail down his cheek to pool on the plush pillow. He was panting, chest rising and falling with each and every short breath. It was taking too long… the pain was prolonged, becoming worse and worse.

"Canada, you need to keep pushing. The baby's crowning." Maria told him. Toris, by request, was holding Matthew's hand and so gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You can do it…" He added. Eduard and Raivis were perched on the opposite side of the bed as Toris, but their efforts were a little less than satisfactory. They were too stunned to say or do anything that might be of use.

For Ivan, it was just a matter of time. A slow, sharp grin formed across his face. It seemed all was going accordingly.

* * *

"One last push… come on, Matthew." The Canadian cried between pushes but he gave it his all. This was the worse pain he had ever endured, he was sure. With a final heave he sank back into the bed with a cry, skin damp and sticky with sweat.

His ears perked to the high-pitched wails. Canada found new strength and leaned forward against the headboard, straining his weak eyes in the dim light, his glasses had been removed at the start of the labour making his efforts rather futile.

Estonia and Latvia jumped up, handing appropriate instruments at Ukraine's word. The wailing quickly died down into soft occasional cries, casting a silence over the spectators. Maria wrapped the tiny bundle in the dry cloths she'd been brought and promptly delivered the child into the arms of his parent. Lithuania located Canada's glasses on the bedside table and hastily handed them over to the new parent.

"A little baby boy… how lucky for you, Canada." Ukraine beamed, presenting the baby after tying and cutting the umbilical cord.

A wide-eyed Matthew examined his newborn son; his short, platinum hair, his chubby pinkish-white flesh and when he opened them, Matthew could indeed see his large violet-blue orbs.

"B-baby…" He whispered, burying his nose into the child's damp silvery scruff. Maria requested the help of the Baltics, asking them to clear up whilst she gave the baby and Matthew a thorough examination to be sure both were healthy. She was no doctor, but she announced good health for the pair.

* * *

"Matthew," A little while later, Maria was standing at his side now wearing a very thick gray coat, trimmed with black fur. "I'm going out to the city in a moment for some supplies. Baby will be hungry but I'm afraid we don't have any bottles or milk. I'll pick some up, okay?" Canada nodded in response. The young man wasn't aware of whether or not he'd produce his own milk, so infant formulas sounded like a good start.

The silver-haired child he cradled was beginning to close those big violet eyes, snuggling into the cloth that he was wrapped in. Ukraine couldn't help but smile; such a warming feeling within the cold Russian household was a rare spectacle.

Usually Ivan was pain-stakingly rough towards the Baltics, daresay, abusive. It was a rare occasion when he'd show genuine compassion towards either of the passive trio. The last time she remembered was when an exhausted Latvia took a tumble down the stairs and broken his wrist and broke a couple of ribs. Adamant as he was, Ivan did allow the young Latvian to rest for a few days.

She soon left, Estonia coming along by request. Eduard had quickly mentioned he had the desire to pick up some supplies, for which use he did not say. This left the eldest and youngest Baltics alone with Ivan, Natalia and the new parent and his child. How she hoped nothing would happen.

When he heard the front door slam shut, Ivan boldly paced into the room. Natalia leered at Toris and Raivis, her threatening gaze being more than just a show. There was a promise of pain if they didn't move and they knew it. They exited the room, leaving the scary duo to their deeds.

"Russia, could I borrow your house phone?" Canada asked his eyes fixed to the baby.

"What for? You don't need to call anyone." The big Russian man smiled in a sinister fashion.

"B-but, I need to let Prussia know. He needs to know where I am otherwise-"

"_Nyet. Matvey_ isn't going anywhere. You stay here." His voice had suddenly grown rather firm. It was beginning to scare Matthew.

"I don't understand…? Why do I need to stay?"

"It's obvious, _da_?" Ivan went on. "Little Canada will be one with Mother Russia now. He stays here in big house with me and become part of Russia. You belong to me now."

"Y-you can't do that! "

"_Da_. I can. Else you won't see baby again."

"B-but he's my son!"

Matthew was shocked when the man lunged forward, snatching the child from his arms. In retaliation, the Canadian shot forward to grasp him, whimpering a soft cry of 'Maple!' when he was smacked back into the headboard.

"Little sister, please take baby to other room. I need to have a talk with Canada." Natalia frowned but complied, gingerly walking out with the precious cargo. She bitterly glanced down at the napping child.

"I won't let you take big brother." The Belarusian sneered at the babe, kicking the bedroom door shut as she left. If this newly born or his father threatened her chance of becoming one with big brother, she'd have something to say about it.

Even at the tiniest hint of affection towards him, Natalia would do something. She'd even harm the boy or Matt. Maybe kill him. Yes… yes… a little tiny helpless child wouldn't be able to defend himself. But it would probably ruin her own chances. Big brother Russia would be most upset if either of his new underlings were to die. Even if one of them was only human and of no true value to the Russian.

Belarus brought him into Russia's own bedroom where she propped his tiny head against the feather-stuffed pillows. She continued to give the boy a dark but now meaningless stare before wandering over to draw the curtains. Beyond the glass, past the gradually-growing snowfall outside she could see the last of the afternoon ebbing away, making way for the oncoming dusk.  
She then switched the beside lamp on and plonked her small self on the bed beside baby.

She creased her forehead into a frown. It was such an ugly look that she'd adapted over the many years of her existence. The result was usually rather terrifying. But baby's eyelids had once again grown heavy, shielding him from the spiteful gaze.

But…

The girl had to admit… the baby had some sort of appeal to it. The chubby cheeks with a healthy pinkie-white glow. He'd briefly reopened those eyes; in the soft light of the room, Natalia could see they were just like a pair of smooth, sparkling amethysts. Running her nails along his dome, gliding her finger tips through the wispy strands of platinum blonde, Belarus wondered what her big brother had in store for the little one.

There was a moment where the entire mansion seemed silent. Latvia and Lithuania were downstairs preparing supper whilst awaiting the return of Estonia and Ukraine with some groceries. Originally they had planned to simply re-heat the meats and vegetables from Christmas dinner leftover from the night before but they decided there wouldn't be quite enough with an extra mouth or two. They scarcely had enough veg to split between them!

Belarus was fairly content with the baby. Relatively little time had passed since Russia had asked everyone to leave him and Canada alone in the room. No more than five or six minutes.

A blood-curdling scream spoilt the mutual muteness of the household. Natalia glanced up towards the open door, tensing a little before a little smile crept across her lips. Baby woke with a start to the cry of the Canadian. His doe-eyes wavered, lips trembling. Then the bawling began.

Another couple of shouts coming from Canada's room later and Belarus jumped up from the bed just when the Russian appeared in the doorway. He was smiling warmly, the dark aura of his persona no longer evident. Ivan strode over to his sister, swinging away from her as she lunged with grappling arms. Instead he knelt beside the bed and scooped up the crying infant.

"_Ne plachʹ_, little one." He told him, hugging him close against his chest. At some point Ivan had retrieved his scarf for it was once again hanging loosely from his shoulders. The infant was still only wearing the cloths Ukraine had previously wrapped him in so the shared body warmth of the big man was welcoming. Still, the wailing went on. "Let's find mama, _da_?"

* * *

When the bedroom door creaked open, Canada flinched, throwing the covers over his head. His vision had become somewhat impaired once again; on the floor by the window laid the snapped-shattered remains of his specs. Russia had gotten rough. Dangerously rough. Matthew didn't understand entirely where the sudden rage had come from. All he knew was his neck was throbbing where pressure had been brutally applied; his groin was still pained from the labour and unbeknown to him his cheek was beginning to discolour from being struck.

His fears had been confirmed however when Ivan walked straight in, baby in his arms. The unnamed child's whining cries stirred Matthew's previously dormant maternal instinct – what had Ivan done?!

Matthew felt a mixture of anger and hurt boil up. First the bastard claims the newborn and himself as his own possessions! Like they were damn objects to be toyed with! Then he takes the child away, beats him up and returns with the boy crying with a damn smile on his face!

Throwing the covers to the ground, Matthew prepared to leap up and snatch the baby with the plan of pushing the Russian aside and running from the house. It wasn't a terribly well-thought out plan but more of one brewed out of impulse with the instinctive desire to protect his offspring, like any good mother or father should. He was now beginning to see why Gilbert carried such a poisonus hate for the man.

The idea was dropped quite abruptly when he felt the child being gently placed into his lap.

"Take care of him for now. Get dressed and come downstairs for supper." At that Ivan left the room, humming a soft happy tune. Canada held his breath, blindly gazing towards the door until the blurred image of his captor disappeared.

"_Aller dormir, mon petit bébé_." Matthew muttered, holding him upright against his chest. Muffle moans replaced the cries as the child rolled his head against his Papa's chest and gurgled cutely. The first three buttons to the oversized night shirt were unfastened so Matthew was not surprised when the little one pushed past the clothing in what he only guessed was a search for maternal warmth and security.

Now that he thought about it, this little one needed a name. Truly, in all fairness, Matthew had relied on Gilbert to think of names. As previously agreed, he would get his Papa's surname and would receive a first name of his Vati's choosing. But Matthew had long since decided that the baby would bear both of their family names, as tribute to the ex-nation.

What was that name Gilbert had been so fond of? That one he'd continually brought up ever since he'd first started suggesting names…?

Barney? Barry? Benson? No…

Ah. He remembered now. If he was going to be Ivan's captive, then he'd respect Gil's decision.

There was always a chance he'd never meet the man that had sired him. And Gil deserved at least this.

"Benjamin. Benjamin Beilschmidt-Williams," Canada smiled, addressing the baby. "That has a nice ring to it, eh?"

* * *

Shortly after, Matthew leaned back against his pillows. Benjamin pressed both of his pudgy little hands against the bare chest of his Papa, cheek pushed to the side. Using one hand to support, Matt ran his fingers through the baby's pale hairs just as Natalia had done before.

Forgetting the fact that he was being held against his will in Russia's home, the Canadian was more enticed by the fact that he could care for something other than a clueless polar bear or somewhat needy East German.

He could finally take what he'd gathered from France and England's parenting styles and turn it into his own… that is, if Russia allowed it.

The Canadian let out a small gasp. Craning his neck to peer at Benjamin, he was slightly bewildered at the odd sensation. Benjamin had latched onto one of his nipples, proceeding to suckle like a little lamb.

"Y-you're hungry, huh…?" Matt smiled, grazing the silvery hair with his nose. Well, at least he knew the baby was feeding… and it was strange yet wonderful satisfaction to know.

Eventually the child had his fill and withdrew. Matthew burped him (something he learnt to do by reading many baby books) and then lovingly planted a kiss upon his forehead, re-wrapping the blanket around the tiny form. Matthew then set him onto the bed for a moment. He fumbled around on his hands and knees, in search of his baggy black flat-fronts that had been left on the bedroom floor.

Once they were within his grasp Canada pulled them on and set to work trying to locate his glasses. His vision wasn't dreadful; he could still make out shapes with only the major details hazy. He'd lost and even broke many pairs of specs before, and navigating had never been too much of a problem until he got another pair – but when he found himself in the dark, that's when he would be in trouble. All of the night time shadows and murky colours merged, breaking up shapes and images. He was thankful he had Kumajiro and Gilbert around to help nearly all of the time.

"Here they… ah..." Canada found what was left of his glasses and propped them on his nose. Immediately they slid off again. One of the temple arms was missing, as was one of the lenses on the same side. The other lens was cracked. Probably as the result of being hurled across the room earlier. Canada sighed in defeat dropping them back onto the ground.

Downstairs the front door opened and Maria called out, announcing her return to the entire household. Matthew smiled meekly, feeling a little happier knowing the Ukrainian woman probably wouldn't allow harm to himself or the infant. He took baby Benjamin back into his arms and staggered out of the dark room, heading downstairs for supper.


	7. Realisation

**Chapter 6:**** Realisation**

Bloody hell. We're only on Chapter 6? Well... I think that means there's still another 10 - 15 Chapters to go!

Once again, I apologise for my crappy writing style... but please, if you have any pointers, feel free to drop a note in the review section!

**Date:** **26th December, 2012**

* * *

"Matthew, the awesome-me is ho-ome~!"  
Gilbert sang out. He took off his coat and kicked off his snowboots at the door and wandered into the living room. In one hand he was holding a large leather suitcase and in the other he was struggling to clutch a pair of paper shopping bags. No sign of him in here.

"Mattie?"  
Gilbert walked into the kitchen where he unburdened himself on the breakfast bar. Slowly he removed the tub of baby formula, the small box of diapers and diaper-changing products (there was a bargain offer on talcum powder), several baby bottles (another offer) and finally some more palatable items; maple syrup, bacon, milk and bread.

After everything was put away, he continued his search.

The Prussian checked every room downstairs – no sign of him here. Not even any sign of Kumajiro or Gilbird.

Ah. Perhaps they were napping upstairs. Nowadays, since they'd entered the seventh month, Canada had spent a good portion of his days sleeping. That is, when he wasn't satisfying his cravings for food and sex or watching television.

Half-way up the stairs, Gilbert grinned. God he hoped that blonde boyfriend of his was up for some pregnant sex. That was always fun.

Gil leaned was soon easing the bedroom door open.

"Mattie ~" He sang sikily. "Are you up?" He flicked the main room light on and walked towards the bed.

"Mat-" The silver-head frozen, red eyes fixated to the bed. A familiar little ursine and avian were sitting on the double bed in place of their master's, leaning against the fluffy duck-feather pillows. The ex-nation strolled over to the bedside.

"Who are you?"

"Kumajiro, Gilbird! Where the hell's Canada?" The bear simply cocked his head.

"Mm… who?"

"I'm not pissing around, you little hairball! Where is he?"

"…Who…?" Prussia grinded his teeth. He was losing his patience.

"Canada. Matthew Williams. The Canadian boy who feeds you."

"The one you got pregnant?"

"_Ja_." Kumajiro and Gilbird exchanged glances.

"He went out." The little bear slid off the bed and ambled out, probably to the kitchen. Gilbird flew up and perched himself on Prussia's head, just as the enraged man followed the bear.

"Where did he go? What time?" Gil glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the hallway. He'd left Matthew at eleven thirty and it was now quarter to eight. The journey to West's house plus the supermarket and back was a long and tiring one.

Wait a minute. Oh God.

"H-he didn't go into labour, did he?" Kumajiro clambered onto the kitchen work top and opened up one of the cupboards, taking out a new bottle of maple syrup.

"No," He replied. "I'm hungry." Prussia sighed with relief. Danke.

"Good… but where is he?"

"Mm… who…?"

"Canada!"

"Mm… the phone rang. I think at two o'clock. Then he went out." Gilbert narrowed his eyes.

"W-who was it? On the phone?"

"Mm… I dunno."

Gilbert finally gave up. Interrogating Kumajiro wasn't getting him anywhere fast. And if the bear was being honest to his word, Matthew hadn't been rushed off to hospital.

He worked diligently for the next hour and a half, putting away his suitcase of clothes and fixing a dinner of wurst and potatoes for himself and his two animal companions, ignoring Kumajiro's protests of wanting the bacon he'd brought with some maple syrup.

By the time they finished eating, it was twenty-to ten. The German couldn't help but feel immensely worried. Even Matthew wouldn't stay out this late without calling him.

Prussia picked up the phone, hoping to find some messages. Nothing.

_Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring._

"Hello?"

"West."

"_Bruder_…? Is there something vrong?"

"_Ja_, there's something wrong! Canada's missing!"

"Vhat do you mean?"

"He's gone! He went out sometime today while I was at your's _und_ he hasn't come back!"

Germany leaned back against his chair. He was sitting in his study, finishing off some paper work as per usual whilst Italy prepared a late dinner. He didn't expect something like this, and with his big brother sounding so worried, there was no doubt it was genuine.

"He's not here, West… _und_ there's no messages or missed calls." Prussia piped.

"Have you called the hospital?"

"_Nein_. But Kumajiro said he got a phone call _und_ then went out…"

"Who called?"

"I don't know!"

Germany considered this for a moment. Who would call the boy at this time and possibly request them to come out?

"Call around, _Bruder_. I'll come over in the morning."

"… _Danke_…"

"_Ja, ja_. Goodbye, _Bruder_."

"Bye." Prussia hung the receiver, ending the call. Then, immediately lifted it again and began to dial England's number.

Oh God… what would Francis and Arthur say…? They wouldn't react well. There was a pregnant boy out there, somewhere, quite possibly in trouble. What if he'd gone out for a walk in the woods, stumbled into a ditch and went into labour?

"Hello? Who is it?"

"Arthur?"

"Gilbert? Is that you?"

"_Ja_ it's the awesome me… listen, I need to ask you something."

"What is it, chap?"

"Is Mattie there with you?"

There was a long pause. Gilbert could hear muffled talking in the background as the receiver was held away.

"I'm sorry?" Gil took a deep breath and repeated.

"Is. Mattie. There. With. You?"

"No, I'm sorry, Gilbert, he's not. Isn't he at home?"

There suddenly a commotion and some angry shouting between the Brit and another on the other line.

"'Ello? Gilbert?"

"Francis?"

"Gilbert, what iz zis? Why are you asking where _mon petit Mathieu_ iz?"

Prussia spent the next couple minutes explaining the situation.

**"You wanker!"** England again. "Why did you leave him alone in the first place?!"

"Mm, I quite agree with 'im, Gilbert._ Mathieu_ is due any day now. He shouldn't be left alone."

"_Ja, ja,_ I know that! But I couldn't exactly take him to West's! I needed to get some supplies _und_-"

"You should've just gutted it out, you idiot!" Prussia flinched at the scolding. God, so this is how Alfred must feel, huh?

"I know, I know…"

"Idiot!" Arthur seemed to sound more panicked than angry.

"Calm down, _Angleterre_. I'll call Spain and America and see if they know anything."

"As soon as you hear something, you call me!" England hissed. Then, the line went dead. Wait. Why was Francis at Arthur's house...? Gil shook the thought. He couldn't be thinking of that _right_ now.

* * *

**Date:** **27th December, 2012**

* * *

The next morning, Germany arrived with Italy at Canada's house. It was still rather cold and bitter, being the 27th of the month and in the dead of winter, so the pair wrapped head to toe in warm clothing. The nippy north American winter was certainly something else compared to the Berlin weather.

"So, you have no idea vhere he is?"

"_Vee_… I hope little _bambino_ is okay…" Italy snuggled against the blue-eyed blonde, clutching at his mug of cocoa.

"I don't understand where he could be," Prussia sighed, propping his elbows onto his legs and resting his face in his palms. "I honestly don't know why he wouldn't call… or tell Kumajiro where he was going exactly. He didn't even leave a note!"

Germany took a sip of his coffee.

"Maybe he didn't think he'd need to."

"What do you mean?"

"Vell… think about it. Perhaps he thought he vouldn't need to because he planned on returning before you got back." Germany concluded with a shrug.

"Maybe Canada's in trouble. What if somebody has him hostage…?" Italy suggested in a slight whimper.

"Don't say such things, Feliciano," Ludwig scolded, putting an arm around him. "I'm sure he's fine." But the more he thought about it, the more he was beginning to suspect Feli had a point. But for Gilbert's sake, he tried to resist his own pessimistic thoughts from being voiced.

"You better be right, West."


	8. Good Morning?

**Chapter 7:**** Good Morning...?**

******Date:** **26th December, 2012**

* * *

The evening at the Braginski household had gone rather smoothly. A warm hotpot of leftovers had been served for supper – everything that had been wrapped in foil from Christmas lunch had been bunged in and boiled up until it was more like a veg and meat stew.

Ukraine had worried over Canada's bruised cheek, although he managed to convince her that it was the result of him blindly stumbling around the house. Thankfully, she believed him.

Ukraine was pleased to hear that Benjamin was breast-feeding successfully. She'd prepared a bottle of special milk formula, just in case and brought it into the dining room.

Surprisingly Russia acted all light and happy, smiling prettily as he talked to his sisters and 'guest'. The Baltics just ate in silence. They prayed in silence for the Canadian and his son, fearing the worst.

Estonia particularly was uncertain of what use a human boy would be. To be perfectly honest, the boy wasn't really of any value. To Ivan, that is. But Eduard wouldn't put it past Ivan to use Benjamin in order to bend Matthew to his will. Benjamin wasn't a nation; he would succumb to death far more easily and at a quicker rate

Matthew was cradling the baby in one arm, enticed by the infant's sleeping form. He was so innocent and sweet.

"_Matvey,_ you haven't touched your supper." Ivan gestured at the full bowl of hotpot before the Canadian. "And after Toris and little Raivis worked so hard to make it."

"I'm not really that hungry…" A complete and total lie.

"You need to eat, sweetie. You won't be able to feed little baby Benjamin if you don't eat your own fill." Matthew eyed the bottle of milk formula on the table beside him and sighed. Maria was right. His own milk had to be better than the artificial stuff you got in powder form from a box, right?

So, with these thoughts lingering, Matthew reached for his spoon and began shovelling spoonful after spoonful of the delicious meaty broth down his throat. He relished each bite, savouring the braised flavours. Breakfast had been his last meal but with that many hours behind, it wasn't long before Canada quietly requested a second bowlful.

* * *

After dinner, Matthew had taken a crying Benjamin to get properly cleaned up after finding the cloths he was wrapped within soiled. Maria and Toris took this opportunity to change the bed sheets in the guest room and take Mattie's shirt, coat and wetted underwear to get washed.

She then dug out an old pair of loose drawstrings that had once belonged to Ivan. She'd figured they would be more comfy than his flat-fronts for the time being.

"Matthew, we've put the diapers and changing stuffs up in your room in the drawers, just in case," Mattie hugged the baby closely as he was led into the bedroom. By now he'd grown slightly accustomed to his poor sight and was ambling about with ease. "One of the Baltics will come in to wake you up in the morning for breakfast, okay? But it's late now, so try and get some sleep." At that she left him to it, closing the door behind.

The double bed provided the pair with plenty of room. But it seemed so empty as well.

"God, Gilbert. I wish you were here." Matthew muttered sadly.

He carried Benjamin to the wide set of drawers and settled him on top, pulling the cloth from his small body. Benjamin rolled to his side, gurgling. Matthew pulled out the tub of baby ointment and a diaper from the drawers and applied them quickly. He took the diapered baby into the bed where they finally settled for the night. Kissing the burbling baby, Matt leaned over and turned off the bedside lamp.

"_Bon nuit_, Benjamin. _Bon nuit_… Gil."

* * *

**Date:** **27th December, 2012**

* * *

Several times throughout the night the baby cried. Afraid that he'd disturb the entire household, he did his best to stifle the wails until he realised Benjamin was only hungry. After the third wake-up, Matthew simply unfastened the first three buttons to his shirt and propped the tiny baby against his chest in hopes of achieving self-service.

By four-thirty, Benjamin cried again. It was then Matthew was forced to get up to change him.

Needless to say, morning hit Matthew like a ton of bricks; he felt like absolute shit. Groggy and exhausted. It was then he realised he was sleeping alone. And panic set in.

_Knock knock knock._

The door opened slightly and an anxious young face peered in. Matthew was sprawled out on the bed, blanket thrown back and pillows askew in his alarm.

"Hello, Canada? It's Lithuania. Breakfast is ready downstairs, and then Russia would like to see you."

"L-Lithuania!" Matthew scrambled to his feet, moving in a drunken fashion towards Toris. "You bastard-hoser! Where's Benjamin?! What have you done with my baby?!" Toris squeaked a little when the powerful Canadian took him by the shoulders and squeezed, nails digging in.

"P-p-please calm d-down, Canada. Russia took him downstairs about half an hour ago for breakfast," Matthew's eyes softened slightly. "He's fine. Don't worry."

Toris gently peeled the Canadian's warm hands from his self and held them before frowning slightly.

"You're feeling a little clammy. Are you feeling alright?"

Matthew nodded a fraction. His eyes were wide and stared into nothingness.

A little worried from his distress; Toris lead him downstairs to the dining room where a lovely spread of prepared fruits, curd cheese, sliced rye bread and cold cuts of mixed meats had been laid out. It somewhat reminded Matthew of having the morning meal whenever he visited Francis in Paris… but of course at Francis', there was always a great deal more to choose from.

* * *

Russia was already seated, with the man talking rather pleasantly with his darker sister. He looked towards the door rather brightly when Lithuania and Canada walked in.

"Ah, _dobraye utro_, _Matvey_. Sleep well?" Looking around, Canada couldn't see his dear little Benjamin.

"Yes… thank you…" His violet eyes welled slightly. "T-Toris said you wanted to see me…?"

"After breakfast, _da_. Sit," As instructed, he sat. "Get _Matvey_ some coffee and ask Latvia to make some more _blini_."

"Yes sir…" Toris nodded, hurrying from the room.

Matthew gazed longingly at the rich selection of foods. A plate of mixed berries and cut pear was within his reach, as was a dish of sliced luncheon. Toris had finally returned with another plate, pushing it in front of Mattie.

"Don't be shy, _Matvey_. Eat!"

But Matt was shy. Afraid really. After yesterday, he was scared the Russian might beat him again if he stepped out of line. He resisted the urge to touch his bruised cheek; since yesterday the colour had really come out, now a livid purple mottled with darker flecks. It was really quite distinct from the rest of his face.

But gingerly he reached forward to the fruit plate and took a segment of pear. Then another. Next he took a slice of luncheon meat. He couldn't be quite sure, but he assumed it was pork. Pork that had the taste and texture of peppered beef tongue.

"Russia?"

"_Da_?"

"Where's Benjamin?" Ivan smiled, taking a bite out of some stuffed blini.

"Estonia took him into the kitchen to get cleaned up before you came down. My sisters had to go home quite suddenly, so it's just us."

Canada bit his lip and adverted his eyes quietly. Well… at least he wasn't in here with the Russian.

By the time Matthew was on his fourth slice of meat, Raivis arrived with a tray and on it a stack of fresh buttered blini and a mug of piping hot coffee. Matthew glanced up hungrily at the tray. Were those… pancakes? Was that what Ivan had meant by 'blini'?

Matthew's lip quivered in anticipation. He certainly hadn't expected to get his favourite snack food whilst being held captive!

"Canada? " Matthew's hungry gaze fell past the Latvian. Eduard had entered shortly behind, holding a babbling Benjamin who squealed with delight when he saw his Papa sitting at the table.

At this point, Matthew's thoughts were just an incoherent jumble. He only saw himself and Benjamin in the room; everyone else was totally irrelevant. He got up from his seat with a clumsy start.

"B-Benja-"

The little Latvian hadn't been able to react fast enough; within seconds, Canada had tripped on the rug underfoot and knocked the younger nation over and the tray of food into the air.

Eduard, startled, ducked with his arms protecting Benjamin from the shattered crockery and scolding coffee. Luckily neither suffered any injury.

Raivis on the other hand did suffer, and confirmed his pain with a shriek. He had an adolescent Canadian nation awkwardly sprawled out over his smaller frame, with piping hot coffee splashed over his exposed cheek and neck. The blini pancakes had made a further journey – they were aligned messily along the floor to the side of his head.

"Oh dammit!" Toris hissed softly, diving to the ground. He ripped Canada from his younger 'brother' and hurriedly sat him aside.

"_Tas sāp, tas sāp_!" Latvia cried, immediately clutching his scald spots. Lithuania reached for a tea towel.

"_Ne tai ne_. Don't be such a child." Lithuania spoke firmly yet softly; he had no desire to get into trouble with the master of the household. He began dabbing the reddened spots of heated flesh, removing every drop of excess fluid.

"Lithuania," Russia crouched beside the Baltics. Latvia was desperately holding back floods of tears, hiccupping madly. "Take little Latvia to get washed, _da_? And Estonia, please amuse baby for a while longer. We will deal with mess when we come back."

"Sir, what are you-"

"Please amuse baby for a while. Take him to the living room, _da_?"

Matthew sat with his knees drawn to his chin.

"O-oh maple! I-I'm so sorry, Latvia! I didn't mean to, it was an accident!" Toris nodded his reply off with a meek smile, directing Raivis from the room. Eduard immediately left the room with the tiny infant.

The Canadian trembled pitifully. A large strong hand roughly snatched a handful of his sandy locks and pulled.

"_Matvey_, come with me to my room to talk." At first glance, Ivan sounded only slightly displeased. But to those who knew him - particularly his Baltic trio - knew the rage was building.

* * *

The broad man continued to drag the yelping Canada from the dining room and down the hall until they were at the base of the grand staircase.

"Make it much easier for yourself, _Matvey_ and walk properly." Ivan jerked his arm forward, releasing him.

The man's purple eyes stared. He had the right mind to go and fetch his favourite lead pipe. It was only by the front door in the umbrella rack. Whenever an unwanted visitor came to the house, Ivan always found it pleasant to swing the heavy instrument in warning. Even better so if he got to use it.

Disappointed he was when Matthew struggled to his feet, rubbing his burning scalp.

"Come." Matthew's head jerked again when Ivan took a fresh grip; the fringe this time, narrowly missing that singular long curl.

"P-p-please, Russia, that h-hurts!"

* * *

Russia dragged him into his bedroom; a rather simple master suite with a wardrobe, a set of dressers plus a bedside cabinet, a wooden armchair with black fabric cushions and a matching mahogany coffee table. What he slept on was a low-lying king-size bed, decored with half a dozen feather pillows and a contrasting set a pair of thin duvets coloured black and white.

To top it off, the Russian had an ensuite bathroom complete with a double shower cubicle and bathtub.

"Get in," Ivan booted Matthew into the room, and swiftly locked it. "Let's have a little talk, _da_?"


	9. Russia's Mattie

**Chapter 8:**** Russia's Mattie**

This chapter contains activities of a sexual nature

(It's been ages since I've written any type of smut... please excuse this. I'll get better. Eventually.)

**Date:** **27th December, 2012**

* * *

Canada whimpered. He pushed a hand through his hair, curling his fingers. Each time he brushed the sore hot skin of his scalp he winced.

"Get on the bed." Russia pointed to the king-sized mattress. He moved over to the curtains, drawing them shut before walking over to the bedside table, his large hand rooting around the table lamp for the switch. An eerie glow was finally cast, gradually illuminating the large room.

He gave his cranium a final rub before absently crawling onto aforementioned bed. He perched himself on the edge, tucking his knees into his chin.

"I'm really sorry, Ivan. I just tripped… hurting Latvia wasn't intentional." Russia moved towards the wardrobe and opened it. He fumbled around. His reply sounded rather considerate, as though deciding what to do now he had the boy cornered.

"_Da_, I know. Latvia is a stupid little boy; he was the one who got in the way and will be punished later," Ivan pulled a small wooden box from the wardrobe's shadows. "How about some fun. _Da_?" Matthew shrank further back, pushing himself against the headboard.

"I-I don't understand…" Setting the box on the bed beside him, Ivan pulled off his scarf. He then worked on unbuttoning his coat until he was standing there in a woolly lavender turtle-neck and his pants.

From the box he pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. He broke the seal, unscrewed the cap and throwing it carelessly aside – he wouldn't need it again – then took a long greedy swig and set it on the bedside cabinet beside the lamp.

Matthew wrinkled his nose to the unfamiliar yet unmistakable stench of vodka.

"It's a bit early to drink, don't you think, eh?"

"_Matvey_, hush." Ivan lunged, knocking the younger man off-guard and pulling him onto his back. He pushed himself upon the strong form of the shorter nation, shifting his own bulk until he was straddling the boy, keeping him pinned firmly between his thighs.

"R-Russia! W-what are you doing?"

"I said hush," Ivan growled in a new husky tone, smirking darkly. His purple eyes were fixed on Matthew's violet orbs. "Oh… _Matvey_… don't be scared. This will feel good, I promise."

Matthew didn't try to resist. Somehow, this felt oddly arousing. But it also didn't feel right. Usually this type of intimate thing he did with Gilbert, when they were in 'the mood', snug in their own bed and done at their own accord.

Generally Gil requested sex roughly sixty times a week… exaggeration, but he did like it often. The German was more than happy to arouse his boyfriend until he huffily consented. Sometimes the tables were turned and Mattie was the one badgering for attention.

Ivan began to deal with the oversized night shirt. His rough war-shapen fingers skilfully unfastened each button before pulling the garment off.

"What's this?" Matthew whimpered when one of those rough indexes prodded his stomach; a little thickening of fat still visible over his abdomen.

"I was hoping you'd be more toned… but since you just had baby… I'll forgive you," Ivan shuffled back and leaned forward, drawing his hands over Matthew's tender nipples, groping his breasts with a small chuckle. "You'll work extra weight off quickly. I'll make sure of that, _da_."

Butterfly kisses were planted along Canada's collarbone, drawing up towards his neck and then repeating across his jawline. Matt mewled softly. Even his dear Gilbert didn't do anything quite as sensual. He was a more selfish lover, but a good one at that. And Matthew couldn't complain at something he enjoyed.

"N-no, Russia… you can't…" Matthew squeaked, squirming lazily beneath. "Why are… are you doing this…?" Ivan began to nuzzle his cheek.

"Because you are mine." He replied simply.

"No… I… I… Gilbert's my… I'm with Gilbert…"

"But you're with me, _da_? Prussia is not in this equation anymore."

"I-I won't let you do this, y-you damn hoser!"

Those words were enough to agitate Matthew. His passive squirms turned into active flails. Ivan swung to avoid a side-sweep to the cheek, and then snapped back. Using one hand he managed to pin both of the blonde's wrists above his head, then applied a sharp smack to his already-bruised cheek, earning a soft cry.

"Such a naughty pet. Learn to behave, else baby Benjamin will learn what true pain is." He hissed, adding another slap. Ivan took his hand, slipping it down and sliding it beneath the drawstring pants, running his fingers along silky-soft skin. Meanwhile his kisses turned from deceivingly loving and sensual, to strong soundless sucks. He would claim this boy as his; his marks would cover the faded bites and marks that had been left by the previous mate.

He drew his head away to admire his work so far; three large misshape pink love-bites had been placed neatly along his collarbone. To Ivan, this boy's flesh was his territory. Not that anyone would see him from now on, besides the Baltics and himself. Not even dear Ukraine or Belarus would see him. He was a secret treasure, too precious to reveal to the rest.

He'd be sure to remark his territory again at some point. Perhaps he'd leave a little something on his back.

With his limbs restrained, Matthew could only wriggle his torso until it became too much of an effort. In that case, he succumbed rather begrudgingly, hiding his face in a soulder.

Ivan withdrew his hand from fondling his buttocks and reached for the box, dragging it over. Pair of cuffs were removed. Matthew's wrists were bound to the headboard frame, keeping his arms well above his head and out of the way.

"You look so cute and defenceless … like a little rabbit~" Ivan told him whilst beginning to pull the drawstrings off with a few quick tugs. The material rubbed against Matthew's member, the friction causing involuntary coos of delight to leave his lips.

With one last jerk, the Russian removed the drawstring pants completely. He gazed upon his new 'pet' with studious eyes, gleaming with a dark lust. Matthew threw his back, chewing his lip nervously. He could feel those eyes over his body, even with his own squeezed shut. That dark energy the Russian emitted was omnipresent; like mystical deity that would appear at the sign of danger and stay until blood was shed.

"Prussia has a good taste in toys. Too bad for him he's lost this one~" With the absence of any unwanted intrusion, Canada decided to re-open his eyes. Russia had removed his turtleneck, revealing his broad, smooth chest. The light cast off from the lamp made his milky white flesh glow a preciously soft gold.

The nation wasn't fat; Matthew could now see and be certain of this. Any other time he assumed Ivan was anything other than big-boned. All of the thick winter wraps he wore to world meetings only bulked out his stocky body further but it now seemed rather nice to see him in his most natural form.

Ivan was finally in the nude before his little pet. He pushed his hands along Matt's bottom, squeezing occasionally before relocating to his inner thighs. Ivan satisfied his eyes a little longer, rubbing a thumb over the slit of his pet's soft member whilst he cupped his sac tauntingly.

"Ngh… please… don't touch there…"

"'Where' are you referring to? Are you not enjoying yourself?" Ivan asked, cocking his head to the side. Matthew's lips were trembling, his pale face splashed with scarlet. He didn't answer. Russia scooted over Canada until he was perched on his chest, working a hand over his throbbing cock to get it nicely warmed. His own arousal provoked the thick organ to harden before the Canadian, swelling stiffly.

Ivan edged a little closer with the tool in-hand.

"Open up, _Matvey_. You don't want it to hurt, _da_? Make it nice and wet." Mattie wrinkled his nose in protest. Then slowly his lips parted, prompting invite to the Russian's cock. With one hand Ivan fed the hard tool in, and with his spare hand he caressed Matthew's battered cheeks with the backs of his hands.

Matthew's restraints made consuming the cock fairly difficult. Ivan arched an eyebrow when he was disappointed; a little less than half of his organ was inside the wet, hot cavern of his new hapless lover. So, he decided to assist him.

"Handcuffs aren't much fun, are they?" Ivan slid out with a wet 'pop' and shifted himself to Matthew's side. The handcuffs did seem a tad harsh. He wasn't a fan of bondage, especially when he considered the minimal pleasure he'd receive on his end if he couldn't fit his entire flesh in that tight little mouth.

Rubbing rings around each wrist, Matthew sat up upon being freed. With a soft sigh Ivan ran his fingers through his own mop of silvered beige hair. It was never greasy, for he took hot showers often to help him forget of the awful coldness outside. It was always a lovely feeling.

"Let's try again, _da_?"

Matthew was pulled down into a crouch between Ivan's muscled thighs and held there with a palm flat against the back of his head. Ivan's penis was rock hard and erect. Matthew wondered for a minute if he'd be able to take it all in without choking, and for a moment he hesitated before slowly taking it in with a slurp.

Yup. Just as he thought. The thick meat wouldn't completely fit.

"All the way in, _Matvey_." A second palm was added, pushing steadily against Canada's blonde scalp. The cock head poked at his throat, threatening to trigger his gag reflex.

_**I can't keep it in…**_ Matthew coughed against his superior, grasping the tool and sliding it from his mouth. Ivan tightened his grip, uttering a throaty groan.

This was a simple 'go ahead' for Matthew. If this was to be his general nightly activity, he may as well enjoy himself.

He began to lap at the Russian prick, running his tongue on the underside. Ivan smile, squaring those strong pronounced shoulders, letting his head hang forward. He brought his hand up again; tousling the fringe from Matthew's tightly shut eyes. The only way he could find solace was if he imagined this large lover as Gilbert. But Ivan's actions were more forceful and different than Gil's.

Ivan shuddered a little with delight when a certain Canadian's tongue brushed over a particularly sensitive patch of skin. Matthew mouthed the cock again, pumping a clammy fist at the heated base in rhythm to his suckling.

The lush feeling of release from the German-trained mouth was enough to drive anyone crazy. Ivan raised himself slightly, beginning to buck into Matthew.

"You're being such a good boy, _Matvey_. Is it because you want me to come quickly?" Matthew withdrew, coughing again.

"N-no… it's not that."

"Do you love me, _Matvey_? As much as I love you?" While he waited, Ivan reached for the vodka again, taking a gulp between the pregnant pause. Frankly he didn't care how Matthew felt about him. As long as he could be satisfied. Matt sat up.

"I… I…"

"_Nyet_? That's okay _Mattie_. I'll love you anyway, like family." Ivan draped a finger along his cock – it was thoroughly slicked with spittle.

Matthew licked his lips, feeling that his salty salvia was the thing preventing them from shrivelling up. He hadn't even gotten a sip of that coffee at breakfast; he was absolutely parched with a mouth that felt as though he'd just be sucking on balls of cotton wall, leaving his mouth arid.

Ivan took another dreg of vodka and set the bottle aside. He didn't swallow the mouthful. Instead he crashed his lips into Matthew's. Instinctively Matt eased his mouth open, immediately expecting a warm wet tongue to be requesting entry anyways. Instead, his mouth was flooded with lukewarm vodka. The harsh alcohol burned his throat and bitten lip – many hours of abuse had resulted in him finally puncturing the skin.

Through the vodka-induced haze, Matt broke from the 'kiss' and fell back against the pillows on the bed with a wrist held against his lips as he sputtered and choked. His breathing had become long raspy pants, his thoughts subdued.

Ivan maneuvered backwards on the bed. He pried his pet's thighs apart, revealing a hardened cock bobbing with each breath. Russia's hot breath against his groin made him shiver with delight.

Russia aligned his thick wet cock against Canada's puckered little hole. The blonde craned his head forward with a soft whimper. Russia's organ was large; larger than his own but nothing abnormal. But still, he couldn't help but complain a little.

"It's not going to fit…"

A faux grin spread across his face. With a single powerful buck of his hips, Ivan shoved himself inside. The head first followed by the rest of his length. Matthew cried out in shock.

"_Nyet_, don't lie," His voiced was reduced to a sharp whisper. "It's steadily taking it in, isn't it?"

Groaning, Matthew contracted around Ivan, squeezing.

"You're tight… it's been a while since Prussia's fucked you, _da_?" With no reply to go with, Ivan began to thrust. Matthew's pleasure no longer mattered. He wanted to satisfy himself. Matthew was just a new toy. Toris and Eduard's novelties had faded, and he wasn't overly interested in the small whiny Latvian at the moment.

The robust prick stabbed countlessly into Matthew's prostate, encouraging loud cries of pain. Ivan's dark smile stretched. God, how he loved those wails. Those pleas, begging to stop. So instead of slowing, Ivan accelerated.

"Mn….mm…hah… aah!" Matthew arched into a crescent when Ivan slipped forward inside him, striking his sweet spot. Tears stung his eyes and remnant droplets of vodka burnt his untrained throat. His ass was being pounded and now his dick throbbed with promise.

Ivan's own sac was contracting. His climax was growing near.

"_Matvey_… I'm going to come soon~" Matthew however was consumed in pleasure-pain. The same prostate spot Gilbert could effortlessly located and ram until he was a melted heap of sex-hungry flesh.

His toes and fingers curled when a wonderfully livid feeling grew from the pits of his stomach. He began pushing back against Ivan's cock, trying to milk out every ounce of pleasure to get himself to cum. Ivan was taken by surprise when Matthew clenched up around him. Russia groaned lowly while Canada moaned with ecstasy.

The Russian's broad chest was doused in something hot and wet. Matt's sandy locks were stuck against his sweaty forehead. Ivan didn't allow his pace to slip. He pulled out partially, then rammed back in, again and again.

Ivan scowled, a sneer creeping from his jaws like some feral beast. His seed spilt forth, filling the Canadian up. God, what a time not to be using a condom…

Ivan held his rigid position for a few more moments, and then leaned forward. He brushed the stray strands of gold from his lover's sticky cheeks and smiled. The Canadian was sedated from the luxury pain-pleasure that had overthrown his sweaty, panting body.

"_Matvey_?"

"Mm…"

"This will hurt." A blunt statement full of promise. This he found out as soon as Ivan roughly pulled himself free. A trail of semen dribbled out after the placid cock, spilling onto the dark bedcovers and pooling where the bed dipped from the weight of the two nations.

The sex was something Matthew couldn't regret. He had no say, did he? But after realising what he'd done – what they'd done – he couldn't help but let the tears that had previously been welling up fall down his plump cheeks. He may have been overacting, in all fairness. His mood swings weren't over quite yet. It would take a few more days at least before his hormones would settle.

He didn't struggle when Ivan sloppily pulled him beneath the cum-covered bed sheets. His ass would hurt later on but for now it simply throbbed bluntly.

Sex was just another activity. Usually passionate and heated, full of flesh with the stench of beer and maple mixing together. But this time there was no true love driving the game. Vodka and musk replaced the beer. And this time he was doing it to protect someone precious to him. Matthew's desire to disbelieve the violent fact that Ivan would harm Benjamin wasn't strong enough to overpower the thoughts. Ivan was a difficult one to read and when he said something it was generally truth.

But it was tiring all the same. Letting the tears dry, Matt leaned in against Ivan's warm damp chest and drifted off into a fatigue-induced slumber.


	10. Logical Thinking

**Chapter 9: ****Logical Thinking**

******Date:** **27th December, 2012**

* * *

Gilbert said nothing. He was seated at the kitchen breakfast bar, pushing a spoon through a bowl of oatmeal. He glanced over at the bottle of maple syrup to his side with sad crimson eyes.

He hesitated for a moment and then reached for it. Little brother Germany and his Italian boyfriend had been over for a good three or four hours. At any rate, Ludwig had prepared him some breakfast although at one-thirty it was more like lunch.

He lifted a spoonful of the oaty mush and tilted it, letting the mixture drop back into the bowl. He popped the top off the bottle of syrup. Porridge was bland. And gross. He liked Mattie's pancakes a lot better. But with no Mattie and no bratwurst in the house, he was stuck.

Germany turned to the stove, ladling some porridge from the pot and into two more bowls.

"Italy!" He called gruffly. "Come and get some breakfast!" Feli came skipping into the kitchen. In his arms he was holding a rather irritated Kumajiro. Ever since the blonde and brunette arrived the little bear had been constantly hugged and squeezed like a stuffed toy.

"Hungry." Kuma announced when he was finally let down. Germany gazed soundly at the little ursine before filling a third bowl and thrusting it into his little white paws.

"What's this?"

"_Vee_… its porridge~" Feliciano replied. The Italian took a seat beside Gil and began to dig in. The bear dropped his bowl letting it smash to the floor.

"I want pancakes."

"Vell, you can't. It's this or nothing." In response Kumajiro simply ambled towards the breakfast bar and climbed up onto the stool. He heaved himself up onto the bar surface, licking his paw. Then, in one swift motion, he snatched the maple syrup bottle from Prussia and began to suck it down like a babe to it's bottle. Uttering a simply sigh, the German began to clean up the spillage.

* * *

"Hey, West? When're Arthur and Francis getting here?" Ludwig collected the bowls of his companions – both contained a rather substantial amount of porridge.

"Anytime. Have you made anymore phone calls?"

"_Ja_… after I they hung up, I called Eliza _und_ Roddy. Even Antonio didn't know anything."

The room went silent. Feli had wandered off to take a siesta leaving the brothers alone in the kitchen.

After prolonged pause between the two brothers, they heard the front door open. Gilbert immediately sprung up by reflex.

"Mattie?"

"Bonjour!" The kitchen door opened and in walked Francis and Arthur. Both were still wearing their hats and coats.

"Hello, lad," Arthur greeted, a little spite evident in his gentlemanly tone. "Any news of Matthew's whereabouts?" Gil shook his head.

"_Nein_."

"I zee. Did you and _Mathieu_ 'appen to 'ave a little lover's quarrel?"

"_Nein_! Nothing happened! We were just doing some housework. Then I left for West's before noon _und_ when I got back he was gone! Kumajiro said someone rung up und then he left at around two o'clock!"

England peeled his coat and hat off, draping them over the breakfast bar. It was snowing heavily outside, at a temperature of minus five degrees. The Brit certainly wasn't use to the Canadian winters. Anywhere too hot or too cold was a trial itself for the old nation. To be frank he was just glad to be inside.

"Well, did he take anything with him?"

At that moment, Kuma happened to look up from his maple syrup feast.

"Who…?"

"Canada."

"Oh. He took a scarf from the closest." The bear replied, scratching his ear thoughtfully.

"A scarf?" Francis repeated, arching an eyebrow. "But of course. It's cold outside, oui?"

"Wait a minute…!" Gil darted suddenly from the kitchen and romped down the hallway towards the coats closet by the front door. Yanking it open he scanned his eyes over all of Matthew's old coats and jackets, the hoover and… the door peg was empty. That was where he'd hung up Russia's scarf.

"That stupid _arschloch_! _Dummkopf_!" His guests arrived at his side.

"What iz it, Gilbert?"

"He did it! He damn-well did it!"

"Did vhat?"

"He took Russia's scarf back! I know he did! I told him not to, I told him!" Gil exploded in a fit of rage. He knew Matthew would disobey and take the scarf back. The Prussian had an awful feeling that Ivan was probably keeping the pregnant boy under lock and key as his hostage or new slave.

Prussia snatched one of the musty coats from the closet and flung it on, bringing the zipper up to his chin.

"_Bruder_, vhere are you going all of a sudden?"

"To that bastard Russia's!" Arthur hooked his arm into Gil's and pulled back.

"Don't jump to conclusion, lad! Russia may've come here instead and gone off. Matthew's not that foolish, alright?"

"Mon cher iz probably in 'ospital, or resting somewhere else. Let's keep looking for a bit longer, _oui_?"

Somehow, Gilbert was convinced to let the whole 'Russia Hate' go. But still he couldn't help but feel as though there was connection between Matthew's disappearance and himself. He knew Ivan was potentially dangerous. But he also couldn't quite come up with a good reason to why the vodka-swigger would want Canada in the first place.


	11. 30 Nights of Russia

**Chapter 10:**** 30 Nights of Russia**

And so, our story finally progresses...

**Date:** **28th January, 2013**

* * *

A month passed, bringing the nations into the New Year and closer to the end of a bitter winter. Arthur had unknowingly persuaded Gilbert to remove all suspicions on Ivan, thus adding to his depression when no progress was made.

Even when Ivan was confronted by Francis during a meeting between the nations he simply denied seeing Matthew since the party. He told them Lithuania had answered the door to take the scarf when the Canadian arrived, and then their visitor went on his way. Francis wearily believed this and so Gilbert's heart sank.

Matthew was finally declared dead and the search dropped.

* * *

During this time, Matthew discovered his existence was merely that of a sex-slave and servant. He put up with pain and humiliation to protect his son from harm. He felt that if he served alongside the Baltics, took his share of abuse and willingly slept with Ivan that he'd leave Benjamin alone. He thought that by doing this he was being a good Papa.

Much of the time Ivan ignored the baby. He didn't allow the baby and parent to meet during Matthew's hours of work, where he would share the housework with the Baltics. At those times he would hold onto the baby until he needed something, like feeding or changing - specifically, that was Toris' task. Meals and bedtime were their times of being reunited, although on occasion Ivan would allow the pair to play quietly before breakfast or spend evening bath times together.

But unlike the Baltics, Matthew managed to keep his nerve. His deft confidence and determined nature was what pulled him through the pain and degrading sexual activities.

In his youth, Arthur taught the Canadian to keep a stiff upper lip. To gut out any situation if it was worth it for someone else or if something was promised in the future for efforts. He thanked Arthur for those important lessons. For once, something about being a gentleman had come in handy.

When Ivan finally got sick of sharing a bed with both Matthew and Benjamin, he instructed the baby to sleep in the guest room until a proper crib was made. Matt protested this. Then Matt attended dinner that evening with a swollen, discoloured cheek. But he'd won.

* * *

It was January 28th and a rather frosty day it was! Outside the wind was a gale-force blizzard, adding to the three-foot mounds of white that had already settled on the ground during the previous night beneath the brittle winter moon. The skies were puffy and grey. No sun meant no chance of the ground thawing out anytime soon.

Like when all company came around, Canada and Benjamin were forced to make themselves scarce for a bit. Canada took this time to play games with Benjamin using makeshift toys; things like sock puppets and homemade bean rattles were all they had. But Benjamin didn't complain. The tiny child was growing quickly, unaware of his Papa's emotional distress and pain to forsake his own. He was just another blissfully unaware youngster brought into a world of hurt.

Today's visit however was one of business involving the economics and trade between two countries.

"Sir, mister Densen has arrived."

Russia glanced up from his book, a half-empty vodka bottle in-hand. He was wearing a pastel blue turtleneck sweater with his usual scarf bound around his neck.

"Ah, wonderful," He set the book down beside him and knocked back the last of the bottle. "Direct him to my study. We'll hold the meeting there."

"Yes sir." Lithuania nodded, turning to leave.

"Oh and Lithuania?"

"Yes… sir?"

"I don't want Canada to be seen. Lock him in the basement with baby."

After a recent encounter with a visiting China, baby Benjamin had begun to cry rather loudly after bumping his head. Suspicions had been raised by Yao, who was then convinced that in his old age he was merely hearing things. A lucky escape. Yao had been one of the few nations who took the loss of the child and Canada seriously but was also just as quick to drop it when they were announced dead.

So now, Canada had to stay down in the enforced basement where all sounds were muffled by the concrete walls and three-inch thick door.

"Y-yes sir." Toris stopped in on the kitchen, deciding to give his 'brothers' the job of removing Matthew, then returned to the guest whom was impatiently leaning against the wall by the front door. A smile crept across the Dane's mouth when Toris reappeared.

"T-the meeting is being held in the study. Would you like me to take your coat and… erm… hat?" Mathias shook his head.

"Nah, I'll keep them on. Where's the study?" Already the tall man passed the servant towards the staircase. He gripped the banister in a gloved hand and ascended quickly.

"P-please wait!" Lithuania protested, breaking into a jog to pursue the Nordic. The black and red-cladden nation had already disappeared from sight but the heavy footsteps on the landing implied he wasn't far.

"In here?" By the time Toris had reached him, Mathias had already picked out a door at random from the upstairs selection and had opened it. "Nope." This was the Baltic's shared bedroom. Stupidly clean and neat.

"T-the study is this way…" But once again the Dane picked another room of his own choosing and opened it. The bathroom.

"Geez, where is it?"

"Mister Densen, if you'll listen, the study is over here! The last door on the left!"

"Yeah, yeah, fine." Mathias rolled his eyes. Toris clenched his fists, leading the guest down to the designated meeting room.

Mathias stopped for a moment, ruffling his wind-whipped blonde hair. Damn, this was so lame. He didn't understand why Ivan couldn't come to his home to discuss the problems of their downfalling economies. At least then he wouldn't have to travel so far!

The Dane's lucid blue eyes caught some movement, his ears pricking to the audible hisses of whispering voices down below. He glanced casually over at Toris whom was still walking to the study, then sauntered over to the landing rail. He looked over down into the foyer of the mansion; from here he had a pretty damn good view of the ground floor and front door… not that there was much to see.

Except Canada being lead down towards the basement door with a tiny baby in his arms by a rather wary looking Estonia and Latvia.

"Mister Densen…? Please, the study is this way …!" Toris called. The Dane snapped his attention back to the young man, then back to the four beings below. But they were gone. He shrugged to himself, walking over to the study door.

The Nordic wasn't one to pay any mind to details, and to him that was just a man who bared resemblance to the American nation. Infact, Mathias was unaware of the Canadian's disappearance at all.

* * *

"Ah, Denmark. How good of you to make it." Mathias flashed a bright look up at the Russian at the doorway.

"About time! I've been waiting for freakin' hours!" Mathias replied, leaning back against one of the two armchairs that resided in the study room. He set down a book he'd been leafing through on the coffee table. It was just a simple horror novel, written in Russian that he'd taken from one of the bookshelves. Although he couldn't make heads or tails of the written language, the front illustrations of some of the books intrigued the dim Dane.

"There's no need to exaggerate. It was ten minutes at most." Ivan closed the door behind him, then walked over to the liquor cabinet.

"Something to drink?"

"Uh… yeah, sure. Is there any beer?"

"_Nyet_. I don't have beer. How about some whiskey?"

"Fine."

Ivan poured out a half glass of scotch whiskey, taking a bottle of vodka for himself, and brought the drink over. With a sigh of content the bigger man unscrewed the cap and took a sip whilst the Nordic nation downed the glass of transluscent amber fluid in a single go. From there, they talked out their matters.

* * *

Down in the basement, Estonia switched on the light. The bulb had been change quite recently so the threat of a blackout was minimal for the time being. The basement had very little furniture; mostly boxes of this and crates of that, with some filled with new bottles of vodka and other liquors.

An old wooden chair was in the corner; the reason for its abandonment was that it was no longer in fashion with the rest of the dining room furniture. It was missing one of its arms and its stature was covered in scratches and splinters, but here Matthew would sit and cuddle his darling child for hours at a time. His moments of bonding with the baby were what helped him through.

When Benjamin was too restless to sleep his Papa would sit on the floor with him and pull out the sock puppets and rattle from a box beneath the decrepit chair. Ivan hadn't approved of the playthings but nor did he forbid them. The Russian didn't seem too impressed when he discovered Matthew had used a pair of his own socks to make the toys.

Since arriving at the house, Canada had also been given a new set of clothes – well, a navy blue uniform-suit with a white dress shirt. It had once belonged to Russia many years ago, but due to the large difference in size between the pair, Russia had t modify it slightly with some handy stitch-work. It was comfortable enough and it snugly fit his new slimmed body.

* * *

"I'll bring your breakfast down, Canada," Estonia told him, already slowly returning up the stairs. "Do you want me to bring some formula too?"

Matthew had noticed his milk production had already begun to falter. Benjamin was only around a month of age and so Matthew didn't expect his milk to start drying so early, even if he was male. So the bottle was now a daytime thing, breast-feeding reserved for night-times only when they could bond.

"Yes, please. If you could that is." At that they were left alone. Matthew sat himself on the old chair, holding the drowsy infant close to his chest.

* * *

By the time the meeting ended, it was twenty-to twelve in the morning. Mathias had been in the household for roughly two and a half hours. All that time Matthew and Benjamin were locked up like animals. Benjamin seemingly had no desire to play. It wasn't uncommon for him to be like this in the morning, so Matt allowed him to nap in-arm.

"It's a shame we couldn't come to some agreement, _da_?"

"Yeah… well, never mind. We'll discuss it again together at the European meeting next week. D'you knows who's holding it this time?"

"Da. Netherlands is hosting in Amsterdam."

"Good. Well, _Vi ses_."

"_Dasvidania_."

* * *

Matthew lolled his head over the top of the wooden backrest of his chair. He squinted up at the ceiling with weak eyes, trying to pick out the mismatched shapes of the cracks and cobwebs. Even if Russia had offered him these nice, warm clothes, he was still half-blind. He hadn't daren't ask for some new specs after the last pair were shattered. Perhaps it was a simple misunderstanding and Ivan assumed he could read and see perfectly well without? Maybe he could ask for some for his birthday in a few months. Surely the scary Russian would grant him one present for his birthday.

The door that separated the room from the basement stairs suddenly clicked loudly. The thick wooden barrier swung, grinding on rusty hinges. At the entrance was Russia.

"Matvey, Denmark is gone. You can come out now." Strolling over the Russian man was smiling. The strong odour of alcohol seemed to hang off him like a bad smell – not that vodka wasn't bad. But it was quite obvious the man had been drinking the powerful liquid.

As per always when his time in the basement was over, Ivan snatched up the baby and carried him upstairs handing him to whichever Baltic he happened across first. The first few times Matthew had reacted and withdrawn, disagreeing with those actions. So, he had been pushed back down the stairs. Ivan then had found it crudely necessary to administer a sharp kick to his abdomen then to be left down in the dark until supper. Matthew had also learnt that punishment was just as severe when his master was sober; that way the Russian could enjoy it.

So now Matthew didn't fight back. With a heavy heart he followed, being sure to turn the lights off and that the doors were shut behind as he went. Then he attended his usual daily chores; dusting the bedrooms and parlour, as well as cleaning the room just used for the meeting. Then as always he would mop the hallway floors before helping either Estonia or Lithuania prepare the evening meal. He was forbidden to leave the house under any circumstances, so his days inside were dull.

The most joy he got on a regular basis were the daily baths he gave Benjamin before he went to bed at six o'clock. Then when everyone else in the household ascended for the bedrooms at a mere nine thirty, he was usually forced to interact in a loveless act of sex in some way, shape or form.

He couldn't tell if Ivan loved him anymore – or if he even loved him in the first place. That would explain why sex was anything but pleasurable nowadays. But the longing to be touched by another was strong, like instinct. Gilbert wasn't here to accomplish that; only that damned hoser Russian.

Toris had told him once that both he and Estonia had been the previous pets. That they shared a bed with Ivan for weeks at a time before being cast back to sleep with the other two brothers in their room. Then, after a few days they would sleep with Russia again, letting the whole cycle relapse.

From what he heard this was nothing new to Ivan; he was just another toy. A plaything to be thrown about and broken in the crib before being replaced by something newer. Something shinier. Something younger.

It pained Matthew to think of something so cruel. His selfish thoughts spurred by his maternal instinct wished that Latvia would be the next bed victim. It would kill him to know that it might be a teenaged Benjamin. That Ivan might get some sort of sick thrill to know he had fucked a human boy and his father in the same bed. But Benjamin would age and physically mature; it was possible Ivan would want to get rid of him at some point.

That possibility and how it might be executed was forgotten for the time being when Lithuania called for some assistance in the kitchen. Miserably, Canada walked to him.


	12. Lamenting, Starvation and Promises

**Chapter 11:**** Lamenting, Starvation and Promises**

******Date:** **28th January, 2013**

* * *

"You brought this on yourself,_ Bruder_."

"West! Untie me you _arschloch_!" The blue-eyed German sighed softly but didn't respond to his big brother's demands.

* * *

Since four weeks ago Gilbert had moved back to Ludwig's home in Berlin. Out of the simple mistaken thought that Matthew was dead, he'd put the country mansion up for sale after flogging off most of the furniture and clothes at a scrap auction. Then he, Francis, Arthur and Alfred had taken what they wanted out of Matthew's belongings before whatever Gilbert thought was of value was taken and boxed up to be stored in his room.

And along with the material possessions, Gilbert assumed ownership of Kumajiro and Canada's cat, Moose.

Gil's room was located in his brother's attic. Ventilated and roomy with a window that flooded the room every morning with rich, golden light – in the summer. Originally he'd lived in the basement but after many incidents involving Prussia and the boiler Germany was convinced that maybe that wasn't the best place. The room was basic but with a modern twist; he had his own double bed, a hanging rail for clothes and a wooden chest of draws for storing underwear and other odds and ends. In recent years, Ludwig had also set a small TV up for him. Basic cable with three working channels. But in all fairness the old fashioned box had a built-in VCR system. As long as he could dig some tapes from the many cardboard boxes he roomed with, he could watch a movie or two.

Depression of his believed loss had set in. Gilbert refused to leave the house. Gil refused to eat. Gil even refused to talk to anyone but Kumajiro, Gilbird, Moose or his own cat, Franziska. It still upset him, more or less.

Every night he went to bed feeling sickness in the pit of his stomach. He perceived it as a simple thought of hunger mixed in with the despondent feelings. Everyone had pushed Matthew from their minds. It took some others to forget faster than others; Arthur, Francis, Alfred… himself. He couldn't let this go. Gilbert wasn't certain how he could feel so strongly towards someone. It occurred to him that perhaps it was because he'd lost a child as well as a boyfriend. A partner. But lamenting wouldn't help. He was alone once again in the world.

So depressed he was, Prussia was now refusing to eat. He spent the last eleven days wasting away in bed. He came down to use the bathroom once a day, and then it was straight back up to bed and to satisfy his thirst the east German lapped water from the bathroom faucets like a desperate little dog. He was profoundly underweight and the lack of sufficient fluid in his body left him with a constant migraine.

Germany bought food and water up to the room. Then in the morning he would find it sitting in the kitchen, not a single bite missing.

Ludwig decided he had to be responsible. Gilbert's mellow-dramatic behaviour was pissing him off, moreso than Feliciano whenever the Italian left the kitchen in a state after cooking something pasta-like.

He'd approached Gilbert swiftly, locking the attic door. In one hand he had a tray containing a plate of sliced bratwurst, steamed vegetables and boiled cut-up potatoes and a pint of water as well as a single fork. In the other hand, several lengths of strong rope.

It took roughly ten minutes of kicking and shouting before Germany managed to subdue his brother. He'd tied him down, binding his arms behind his back. Ludi then straddled the albino on the bed, plate and fork in-hand.

* * *

"No can do, _Bruder_. You have to eat."

"_Nein_! Let the awesome-me go Ludwig!" The ex-nation couldn't possibly escape. He was too weak, the lack of food physically draining him. Germany didn't like seeing Prussia like this; the last time he'd been in such shape was when he'd broke from Russia's control after the fall of the Berlin wall.

With a sigh the blonde began mash the potatoes with the fork before scooping some up and holding it to the Prussian's pale lips.

"Open." He ordered.

"_Nein_!"

"You're leaving me in a very difficult position, _Bruder_!" Reaching out Germany gripped his jaw in his palm and pulled downwards to force his mouth to open. Prussia thrashed around, screaming like tantrum-pulling toddler.

Even when Germany forced two fingers into his mouth to keep the entrance from clamping shut whilst he shovelled the food in, two or three bites at a time, Gil kept up his fading cries of protest.

"Swallow it." Ludwig dropped the fork between his legs; he'd need two hands for this. With one hand he now held Gil's mouth shut, tilting his head back slightly whilst he roughly massaged his throat with deep, meaningful strokes of the other hand to encourage the ingesting of his mouthful.

"Swallow it!" Gilbert rolled his head back, letting the food run down his throat and into his empty stomach.

Slowly Ludwig removed his hands.

"_Bruder_…?"

"W-what the hell is wrong with you, W-west?" Was… was Gilbert crying? Ludwig curled his fingers tightly against his palm. He… he hadn't meant to upset his brother… he just didn't want to see him punish himself, to see him wither and fade.

But nevertheless, big fat tears rolled down Gilbert's cheeks; and unlike in any other given time, big brother didn't try to hide it from Ludi. He broke down sobbing, quite openly at that. He wanted to gulp back them but couldn't stop them from pooling his eyes. Holding them back just made his ruby orbs sting but he tried. Any moment now they'd gush down his cheeks, refreshing the tear trails.

"You bastard… how can you stay so happy?"

"Vhat are you talking about?"

"You! Even though Mattie's long-gone dead, you _und_ Feliciano are still always so fucking happy."

"_Bruder_…"

"Don't '_Bruder_' me, _arschloch_!"

For a minute Ludwig stared down at the tied man between his legs. A pang of guilt tore at his heart. So, he was pining for Matthew still. He had suspected this but couldn't bear to think about it himself.

Germany began to pick at the knotted rope.

"_Bruder_, I'm sorry. But you know, Matthew hasn't been found. Ve've been told to assume he's dead. _Und_ ve can't do anything to bring him back if he is," Germany pulled the knot, allowing the ropes to fall loose. He then got up, shifting to his brothers side on the bed. "Just accept it... _und_ move on."

Gilbert sprung forward, arms outstretched and careened into his brother before tightly wrapping his arms around his neck. Ludwig grunted, actually a little surprised; he was use to that affectionate little Italian pain-in-the-ass-boyfriend doing the same on a regular basis. And secretly, Ludwig enjoyed it. When his emaciated brother did it however, there was nothing nice about having a pasty guy clamping onto you whilst embracing your throat with bony arms. It was actually kinda painful.

All Germany could think to do was what he always did when Italy ever started crying and hugging him; he returned it, rubbing soothing circles over his back. They stayed like that for a few minutes. It was nice. Gilbert had missed the warmth of another being. Even though Matthew was younger, his body and arms were laden with more muscle. Ludwig's hugs closely mimicked Matthew's in a way.

"Alright. Now have something to eat," Gil was a little shocked when Ludwig suddenly pulled away to reach for the food and water. He couldn't help but utter a whimpr of protest. "Promise me no matter how painful it is, don't do this again." Gilbert sniffled quietly, furrowing his silvery brows. His normally pale cheeks were glowing cherry-pink, his eyes puffy from sobbing.

"_Ja… ja_, I will. But only if you promise me something." Ludwig speared a piece of bratwurst on the fork and fed it into his brother's mouth.

"Vhat is it?"

"Promise me that you - _nein_, everyone - won't forget Mattie, okay?"

There was a painful pause.

"_Ja_. I'll see vhat I can do _bruder_." _**But I can't make any promises.**_


	13. Growing Suspicions

**Chapter 12:**** Growing Suspicions**

As a head's up... majority of this chapter revolves around the Nordics and SuFin family. But it's all apart of the story! Canada and Benjamin will be in it a lot more starting with Chapter 13!

**Author's note:** Oh, and just so you all know, if a character is speaking in _all italics_, they are speaking in their native tongue. Denmark demonstrates this in this chapter... and I believe Prussia and Canada have in previous chapters.

**Date:** **28th January, 2013**

* * *

In Copenhagen the winter snowfall had restarted, the icy flakes even falling along the city outskirts. The dark skies had clouded over, blocking the moon from the view of the city – not that anyone would care to look up from their humdrum lives to observe its natural beauty. The artificial glow of the city would surely outshine the blazing whiteness of the winter moon anyways. It was no longer something special to the people.

As Mathias sat in the back of the taxi watching the skies with glazed blue eyes, he just let out a little sigh. The Dane rested the side of his head on the window. The chilled glass felt rather nice. Its coolness was helping to sooth the throbbing of his whiskey and vodka induced headache.

God… next time he wouldn't allow the baby-faced Russian to talk him into having mixed shots. Rubbing his temples in slight pinching motions he wondered if the drinking and ranting that went on between them was the reason of little success.

The taxi swerved and skidded along the peaceful sub-urban roads. Relatively few would leave the city at this time of year, even after Christmas. For this reason the authorities saw no need to grit the roads leading out or into Copenhagen. As a result the tarmac was dangerously slippery with patches of ice. Luckily for Denmark he had a rather careful (and sober) chauffeur.

Mathias perked up a bit when the car turned into the gravelled gateway of his house. The private road that led up to his home was a surprisingly long one. It'd take a good five or six minutes of steady driving before he'd actually reach the driveway.

_"Oi, driver, what time is it?"_ Demark slurred drunkenly. In the comfort of his own country surrounded by his own people, he could comfortably speak in his mother tongue. The driver rolled his eyes, glancing at his watch.

Mister Mathias Densen was a man that he often saw home from the airports or inner-city bars. It didn't occur to him that this regular Danish drunk wasn't human but he was a client all the same.

_"It's eight thirty-five, sir. You've been in the car for a good two hours."_ Denmark groaned and sat up.

* * *

They were silent for the remainder of the trip. And once they did arrive in the drive of the grand mansion, Denmark sloppily handed over a fistful of notes as payment (no tip, once again), grabbed his suitcase from the trunk and then lurched to the front door.

As he expected the front door was unlocked, so without a second of hesitation the nation walked in. Iceland and Norway were obviously at home and probably still awake as well. He'd be damned if the careless brothers had gone to bed whilst leaving the house open to invasion…!

In the past Lukas had locked the door once when he'd failed to return home to teach him a lesson. And when Mathias returned at 3am, it took nearly half an hour of caterwauling before Emil finally woke up to let him.

After kicking off his boots and dropping his coat by the door (it wasn't intentional; he did aim for the coat pegs) then kicked it shut. The suitcase had been abandoned next to his coat - he'd unpack it once he sobered up a bit – then wandered towards the kitchen in search of more liquor.

He could hear voices speaking at a rather calm level on the other side of his door. Three to be exact but one of which he no longer heard very often. He pushed the door, letting it swing open before stepping inside

As expected Emil and Lukas were sitting at the kitchen table. They seemed to be drinking something, seeing as they each were holding mugs. A bowl of liquorice and wrapped sweets were set in the middle of the table. A little hand reached forward to reach one of the candies.

"Denmark's h'm'." Sweden said. Demark grinned sheepishly. He walked on over in a meaningful stride and sat down next to Berwald just as he pulled Sealand onto his lap to make room for the Dane. Peter wriggled slightly with protest when his Papa Sve did this. The little blonde boy unwrapped the liquorice and popped it into his mouth, smacking his lips.

"You stink," Norway mumbled twitching his nose, referring to the overpowering smell of alcohol that seemed to emanate from him. "Been drinking again?"  
"What are you doin' here?" Denmark replied, leaving Norway unanswered. Sweden rocked in his seat for a moment, clutching his son's arms, pulling him into his chest.  
"Just came' t' visit ya, s'all. Peter wanted t' come."  
"I did not! Why couldn't I stay at home with Mama?"  
"Qu'et, Peter. Little boys' sh'uld b' see' and n't heard."

It was true that little Sealand hadn't wished to accompany his Papa to his 'uncle' Denmark's house to deliver some notes. He wanted to stay at home with his 'Mama' Finland. But in all fairness Finland wasn't feeling too well. Berwald hadn't wanted to leave him, but Tino – bless his soul – had insisted that a peaceful day of bed rest was all that he needed to feel better. Sadly for poor Fin, he was getting better at a fairly fractured pace.

Berwald handed Peter his mug of cocoa before taking his own filled with coffee.  
"Dr'nk up. We're goin' home in a minute t' see ya Mama." Denmark leaned towards the Swede displaying a mischievous toothy grin.  
"Hey, how is the wife, eh?"  
"F'ne."  
"Ha ha! I didn't see him at the meeting last week!"  
"He hasn't been feel' too w'll. "

Demark sniggered again. Stupid Sweden! Stupid Finland! If they hadn't ran off from under his roof, they wouldn't be struggling so. The Dane enjoyed the company of his fellow Nordics, hell, even that bad-mouthed so-called nation Sealand was fun to have around time-to-time.

* * *

Somehow Sweden got caught up in another conversation with Iceland and Norway further procrastinating their departure. Denmark just rested his head on the table letting incoherent thoughts dwell.

"France was on the phone earlier," Emil began. "They're all still pretty miserable about Canada."  
"Hmph. What's gone is gone. Something not even sorcery can bring back." Lukas commented, picking a wrapped toffee from the centre-piece.  
"He's still m'ssin'?"  
"He's been announced dead, if that's what you mean."  
"Canada was a nice guy. England liked him a lot."  
"He ain't dead," Mathias slurred, pulling himself up. "I saw him earlier. At Russia's. With a little kid, too… or doll… or somethin'." Mathias wiped his mouth, trying to hold back a string of hiccups – and possibly some vomit too.

Neither of the Nordics nor Sealand seemed to react too seriously to the drunk's words. If anything they were rather nonchalant.

"N't possible. Must've been America."  
"Looked like America but… _**hic**_… America doesn't like Russia. Why'd he be there…? Hn? Russia didn't say anyone would… _**hic**_… join us."

* * *

They carried on the debate for a bit longer. Berwald sat in silence, secretly enjoying the arguments whilst petting his son absently. By now little Peter was curled up against Berwald's chest, clutching his father's jacket tightly.

"Papa… tired…"

He wasn't use to being up this late, even if it was only now quarter past nine. His Papa and Mama believed that children should go to be at a set time else they'd be cranky risers. That, and strict Papa Berwald promised that little nations who didn't get at least eight hours of sleep wouldn't grow up to be big and strong and powerful.

Sweden groaned warily. He struggled to his feet, hugging Sealand tightly. It was going to be the early morning hours before he arrived back home so he needed to get going.

"I best b' off."  
"Yeah… well… see ya, Sve. Don't let the door… _**hic**_… hit your ass on the… _**hic**_… way out."

* * *

The lights of the cottage were out. The whole house was left in total darkness. Not a sound. Not even little Hanatamago came to greet them at the door. The fluffy little pup was probably tucked up in bed with Finland with her nose up her backside, or stretched out by the hearth while the logs were still cindering.

Sweden tried his best to ensure he made no noise. The fear of disturbing his darling wife from his slumber would mean the cute little man would come to investigate rather than rest.

Still, without switching on the hallway lights he couldn't make heads or tails of the downstairs interior.

"Sve, is that you?"  
"Fin? Ya up?" The shorter Nordic was wearing Sweden's teal bathrobe and even one of his oversized night shirts. He stood on the bottom step of the staircase, clutching the banister so tightly that Berwald could see the whiteness of his knuckles. Tino's cheeks were still flushed scarlet from his fever and his butter-blonde fringe stuck to his sweaty forehead in damp clumps, leaving his flesh shiny in the bright illumination of the landing.

Berwald sighed softly. It was late. Or early, however one might perceive it. The hallway wall clock was reading at ten-to two. The Swede didn't trust this clock entirely; it was twenty minutes off the actual time.

"Fin, ya should go back t' bed." The man switched the light off again and passed the Fin to reach the bedrooms.  
"I was getting worried. You and Peter have been out nearly all day… you didn't call once."  
"I w's only at Denmark's," He reassured. "If I'd known I'd of come straight home."  
"I know… it just gets lonely here."

Sweden pushed open Sealand's bedroom door. He set to work, gently removing his son's clothes and replacing them with clean pyjamas. It was too late now to wake the sleeping child, so he'd make him brush his teeth extra hard and bathe in the morning instead. He tucked the micronation into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin and kissed his forehead lightly before walking Fin back into their own room.

"Ya been s'ck again?" Sweden's bespectacled blue eyes fell upon a bucket by Finland's side of the bed. A rancid concoction of half-digested foods from his last meals festered away at the bottom, leaving behind a distinctive putrid pong. Sve wrinkled his nose in disgust.  
"I-I can't help it. I thought the fever was going down, Sve. I really thought-"  
"Shush for a b't... lie down an' I'll g't ya a wet cloth."

Fin quietly settled himself back into the bed. Sweden soon reappeared from the bathroom with a cool, damp rag. If his wife wasn't feeling well, he wouldn't be the bad guy and allow him to get up ridiculously early. What Tino needed was rest.

"Ya feelin' warm st'll," He folded the cloth across Fin's brow, wiping a trickle of water away with a finger as it ran lucidly down the small blonde's red cheek. "Stay in bed."  
"B-but... I'll be fine... I promise tomorrow, I'll be alot better..." Fin hated to admit it, but really he adored being babied by the Swede. Even if it did make him seem like a helpless little kitten.  
"Ya cute, ya kn'w... d'n't leave the house though. 'Kay?"

Fin nodded quietly, snuggling into the sheets.

* * *

**Date:** **29th January, 2013**

* * *

Their morning started like pretty much any other day; Sve awoke at eight, sharp to let Hanatamago outside and to make breakfast. Fin, out like a light, was left to snooze. Then at nine Sve woke his family to eat (Finland was still groggy, so was carried downstairs much against his will) and fed Hanatamago.

Then afterwards Peter took his bath, got dressed and spent the morning playing games on his laptop until Berwald told him to play outside with Hana for a bit. Tino curled up on the couch, feeling guilty that he never helped with the chores. Berwald always insisted that he enjoyed the housework. It gave him something to do, and to be frank he did enjoy it. If anything, he wanted to see his wife happy and free of domestic-responsibilities.

* * *

_Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring._

Tino glanced quietly over towards the phone next to him. He didn't hesitate to pick it up.

"Hello? Tino speaking!"  
"Finland? It's Estonia."  
"Eduard! It's been a while! How are you?"  
"I'm fine, Tino… I heard from Russia you were feeling a bit ill. Apparently you didn't show up at the last meeting…?"  
"That's right. But don't worry! It's only a little cold! I'm almost better!"  
"I see. Well… I actually have a favour to ask of Sweden. Is he there?"  
"Ah... yes, he is. Hold on." Tino covered the mouth piece over. He was feeling slightly dejected that his best friend wanted to talk to his boyfriend but nonetheless he didn't complain. "Sve, Estonia wants to talk on the phone!"

The Swede popped his head round the door, drying his hands in a tea-towel. The rest of the dishes would have to wait, it seemed. The tall nation walked straight over, flipping the towel over his shoulder. He thanked Tino softly and took the receiver.

"Estonia?"  
"Oh… uh… hi, Sweden."  
"What is it?" On the other end, Eduard shuddered. That deep, bored voice was always intimidating… and in person it was worse – particularly when Berwald stared vacantly. Half the time the Estonian wondered how Fin coped.  
"Well, you see, Russia needs some work done."  
"Work?"  
"Yes… well… he needs something built, really. A crib of sorts." Berwald arched an eyebrow.  
"Cribs ar' for babies. What would h' need one for?"  
"H-he just needs one… ah…" Eduard's mind went blank, racking his brains for a plausible excuse. "We have a long-term guest here… and he just happens to have a baby… that's all!"  
"…F'ne. I'll come over t'morrow w'th the materials."  
"W-wonderful. I'll tell Russia. What time shall we be expecting you?"  
"…I th'nk around noon. "

Shortly after the conversation ceased, Berwald hung up. Tino smiled nervously.

_**He's staring again…**_The Fin thought with a whimper.

"What did he want?" Berwald sat down beside him, rubbing the back of his neck.  
"… A crib. Russia's guest has a baby, ya see."

So it seemed Denmark wasn't making things up. There really was someone staying with Ivan. Someone with a baby… but it couldn't possibly be Canada. Of all people, what would Canada be doing with a child…? And like Iceland said, he was dead. Pretty much everyone knew that.

But still… Sweden was suspicious. He couldn't quite put his finger on it… but something wasn't right.

* * *

"So, do we have a deal?"  
"Yes sir… Sweden's agreed to come over tomorrow lunchtime with the tools and materials to build it."

"Good," Russia smiled a sinister smile, rubbing his hands. He turned towards the Canadian whom was sitting at the dining room table with him. Matthew was cradling his bundle of joy in one arm whilst trying to feed him with a bottle of formula. He glanced up quietly, biting at his scabbed lip. "That means baby can sleep in guest room. We can have some more privacy, da, Canada?"

Matthew nodded slowly.

"Y-yes sir."


	14. Matt's Rebellion

**Chapter 13:**** Matt's Rebellion**

******Date:** **29th January, 2013**

* * *

Matthew found himself without his baby once again now that breakfast was over. And as always, he felt his heart tear.

He was now seeing less and less of Benjamin. Now breakfast feedings, visitor-hidings and the long nights with him in Ivan's bed was all he saw of the child he'd bore within his own body for nine months. And when the crib was finished, that time would just be cut down even more.

Two weeks ago today he'd lost his will to fight back. His spirit had been taken by the Russian; ever since he had been told nobody was coming for him. As far as everyone on the outside world knew, Mattie no longer lived amongst the living. His hopes of being rescued were diminished to nothing.

But today was different. The nights he'd spent listening to Benjamin cry and he was forbidden to go and comfort the child. For the times he'd pass the bathroom and see one of the Baltics bathing or changing him. His daily chores that prevented him from nurturing the little one… he couldn't take it anymore.

Canada snapped.

Usually he could only watch as Ivan carried the teasy month-old from the dining room. Matthew clenched his whitening fists with his teeth tearing into his bottom lip, threatening to break the skin any moment.

"Canada, can you take the plate-"

Lithuania glanced up as he spoke, only to witness the violent spectacle of a plate smashing against the back of Russia's head.

Russia was standing stock still. Canada directly behind him. Around their ankles the strewn remains of one of the expensive china plates laid scattered. The very same plates Ukraine had brought Russia for his birthday the year before.

A soft angry noise suddenly left Ivan's ghostly lips. A sound Toris feared the most. A low, dubious chant that was only the beginning of impending doom.

_Kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolk ol…_

Matthew sucked in a breath. He wouldn't let his nerve break. No matter how scary the Russian was… no matter how hard his knees began to shake… no matter what, he would finally stand up to the bigger nation. He tried to think of it like he was a school-yard kid whom was finally confronting the big bad bully.

But even so, Toris rushed over, clutching Matthew's shoulder.

"Apologise! Quickly, Matthew!" He warned, worried for the younger man. Matthew shook his head, swallowing thickly.

"N-no. I won't," Ivan turned. A horrifying aura radiated from his body like heat from a bulb. "Ivan. I sick of living here, eh. I want to take my baby. And I want to go home to my family and my boyfriend!"

"Matvey will not be going anywhere; unless you want to see him get hurt."

"Y-you wouldn't hurt him… y-you're just big talk…" Ivan's face twisted into something that Matthew could only describe as evil.

"Let's test that, _da_?"

Immediately Ivan fled the room, Benjamin still clutched tightly in one arm.

"I-Ivan! Where are you going?!" The Canadian took off after him. Oh God, what had he done?!

"Ivan, please… please don't hurt him! I'm sorry!" Ivan was standing by the doorway. His free arm was raised over-head. And when the long-sighted boy stepped closer he could make out the blurred shape of Ivan's favourite implement; a half-metre black lead faucet pipe.

"N-no! Please, Ivan! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Ivan grinned fiercly, teeth gnarled.

"Will you take the punishment as your own?" A no-brainer.

"Yes! Yes, I'm sorry! Please, just let him go!"

Russia didn't lower the pipe. He swung it instead, striking Canada over the head with a sickening crack.

Canada let out a yelp. Then, darkness befell his vision. He sunk further in a state of unconsciousness but not before feeling dull strike after strike to his body. Eventually, everything faded. His great strength failed him and he crumpled to the floor, broken.

It… it was so peaceful. This dark place.

Warm… and quiet. Nobody here… yet at the same time, an evil presence seemed almost omnipresent in this private existence.

Back in reality, Matthew was lying on the floor of the hallway, body contorted in an odd way; his arms and legs were splayed as though he was in a tableau of a rather wild and exotic dance scene. His amethyst eyes were rolled to the back of his skull to reveal the whites and veins. Blood was pooling behind his head, blotting his uniform with dark patches.

Benjamin had begun to cry, filling the household with his shrill wails. It didn't occur to him that what he'd just seen was for his own benefit. Probably for the hundredth time his Papa had done something to protect him. But for the first time it had gone too far in a violent context.

"Lithuania ~ have him cleaned and dressed and put to bed. I don't think he'll be doing much for a bit," Toris had arrived just in time but his courage failed him when he just stood there and witnessed the vicious bludgeoning.

Toris lowered his head against his chest.

"Yes sir," Russia smirked, setting the bloodied pipe back in the umbrella stand. "Sir… what are you going to do with Benjamin…?" The infant was still sobbing.

"For now, nothing," Ivan glanced down at the child he'd grown somewhat fond of, offering an index finger for him to suckle out of comfort. "But tonight is the last time they'll be sleeping together. You, Latvia and Estonia will tend to him during the night."


	15. Reconciliation

**Chapter 14:**** Reconciliation**

This chapter contains sexual activity between Russia & Canada, also a little mistreatment/minor abuse afterwards. Skip to next chapter if you find this uncomfortable to read.

******Date:** **29th January, 2013**

* * *

The covers on the grand bed were finally beginning to stir. Canada groaned softly, turning on his side, nestling his head deeper into his pillow.

His bright violet eyes flickered open. The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the crescent moon that hung outside the window, flooding the room with a hauntingly beautiful light.

Matthew groaned again, turning as to sit up against the headboard. His head was throbbing in more places than one. When he shifted his arms he was caught by a horribly sharp pain to his left flank and arms, like someone had just been beating him with a brick.

The young nation let another few minutes pass before deciding to move. He must've been out cold for ten hours at least… seeing that it was dark outside, he hoped so anyways.

Movement outside the door made Canada perk his ears. He could see a shadow pass beneath the door, floating by like an apparition. But of course, it was only Lithuania. He could hear the man muttering something to himself. Canada only assumed he was bringing Russia some evening tea to his study, or was heading there to finish tidying the bookshelves in the same room.

That had been his own designated duty for the day but after defying the large scary Russian… it seemed that job had been passed on.

Many more minutes passed. Matthew spent his time lightly brushing his fingertips over his bandaged torso and arms, and over the one that was wound around his head. He was dressed in only the drawstring pyjama bottoms, leaving his upper body rather cold. Matthew wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back up to his chin and drift off again but being awake he could finally appreciate his alone time.

Then, the door opened.

"Is Matvey awake?" It was Ivan. He was stood there in the doorway holding an oblong wooden tea-tray with several items placed upon it. Ivan only smiled when he saw the frightened Canadian stare back. He closed the door, approaching his own side of the bed and scooted on, placing the tray on his lap, then leaned over to switch the bedside lamp on.

Matt grunted softly; the suddenly light level change was enough to make him see spots. He blinked a few times, trying to let his eyes adjust, and then glanced over at the tray.

A bowl of porridge with a spoon stuck in it, an apple, sliced and cored and strangely enough, an empty mug. Ivan kept up the appeasing smile. He dipped the spoon into the thick oaty mixture to get some piled on. Matt furrowed his brow in a light frown as Ivan held it to his mouth.

"You're hungry, _da_? Open wide." Matthew hesitated. Slowly, oh ever-so-slowly, his upper lip twitched to reveal dull white teeth and the moist cavern they resided within. From there, Ivan fed him spoon after spoon of the bland gruel, a look of pure joy and pleasure evident on his smile the whole time.

Gilbert use to feed him too. However, the way the albino use to do it… the way he use to nuzzle him and declare his awesomeness or love for Matthew between each bite. Then afterwards they'd get into each other's pants, Gil even having a taste of what was left around Matt's mouth. Or they'd just cuddle on the couch until they fell asleep.

Strong arms suddenly wrapped themselves around the Canadian's midsection, pulling him from his pined fantasy and into a tight bear hug.

"You know I love you, _da_ Matvey?" Canada nodded gingerly. "I love you so much…"

"Y-yes… yes sir…" He suddenly let out a sharp squeal when Ivan's arms tightened around his already wounded torso, squeezing his ribs. "S-s-sir… please… you're hurting me…"

"I would never hurt my Matvey." Damned hypocrite.

The hug was broken after a few moments to which Matthew let out a little sigh of relief. He was sure the Russian had done that just to punish him even after earlier. Ivan took the tray and pushed it on the bedside table. His fingers drifted over the buttons of his dress shirt, brushing the small plastic discs that kept the garment fastened before beginning the tedious job of undoing them.

"You've been up here for a long time, Matvey. You looked so cute just a few hours ago…" Ivan flicked the shirt aside, then worked on sliding off his pants. "It's cold tonight, _da_? But we can always warm up." The Russian let out a soft chuckle, cupping the stiff bulge tucked within his underwear.

"Now be a good boy… remove your pyjama pants and spread your legs." Matt reluctantly obeyed, tears pricking at his eyes. He knew what would happen next.

Ivan clambered back onto the bed, hovering over his prized quarry with a predatory gaze. A lustful gaze. Ivan tugged his underwear down past his buttocks revealing his part-way erected member. The organ quivered slightly in the cool air, shining in the dim light of the room.

He began licking three fingers, coating them evenly in a thick layer of his saliva, being sure his little Canadian was watching carefully. He knew now with experience that it was the little things that turned him on.

"Your turn." Ivan offered the same three digits to him. Without consent he went on with pushing them into Matt's mouth, the pre-covering of spit making it just that much easier to do so.

He let Matthew suckle for a few minutes, before withdrawing again. His amazing tongue swirling and tickling the pads of his fingers, teasing him. Who knew the innocently adorable little Matthew Williams knew how to be so… arousing.

Ivan's wetted fingers hovered over Matthew's hole. He'd go straight to two fingers – no faffing about with one. The doubled intrusion prodded at his entrance, forcing it's way past the ring of muscle.

"Ngh… a-aah…~" The whines of protest against the 'unwanted' intrusion only dared Ivan into pushing his fingers deeper.

"You're so warm, Canada," He leaned forward to steal a quick kiss. "It's nice." Ivan rubbed at Matt's prostate searching for that special sweet spot that would involuntarily drive the blonde into a frenzy of lust and want if he could hit it right.

But that was a job for his lower regions to accomplish.

Right now, Ivan stayed simple and scissored, stretching the tight little entrance.

"D-don't… ah… don't do that…" Matthew moaned, throwing back his head against the pillows, clutching at the sheets with anticipation.

"Alright," Ivan surprisingly pulled out. "We'll move straight onto the fun part, da?" Ivan cocked his head cutely. Drawing his hand down to his neglected member, Ivan gave it a few quick warm-up pumps and then aligned the head at Matthew's hole.

Russia leaned loomed over Canada. With one sharp jerk he entered, Matthew crying out at the forced entry. Once the tip was snugly inside, the rest of his length followed suit. The friction of his prostate delightful against his organ.

"Don't tense up... you're tight." Russia purred, stroking his toy's cheek. No matter how many times he had sex with him he was always tight around his cock.

"I-I'm not…"

"Then I suppose it can't be helped, can it?" Russia moved a little more forward, rewarding his brave little Canadian with an Eskimo kiss. As he did, his member slid deeper inside earning another sweet cry.

Russia began to move, thrusting with a slight awkwardness. The sound of bare skin slapping mixed with anal grunts and low, almost voiceless cries filled the room.

Ivan's eyes rolled back against the constricting muscle that contracted and relaxed in time against his rocking. And as always, Ivan found Matt moving against him in rhythm, trying to swallow more of that thick cock. He was lost in a moment of need and lust. His cheeks burnt scarlet in response and soon his little cry-outs became nothing more then inviting moans that excused Ivan's vigour.

His own eyes were squeezed firmly shut. This way he felt less dirty. Less like a whore. He wondered what Gilbert would think if he saw him like this. Would the albino consider this his fault and call him a cheating little slut…?

"Aargh!"

The one drawback: Russia always got rough during the build-up of his climax. Like some wild animal claiming a bitch in heat, he would go overboard.

But he was ramming that deliciously wonderful sweet spot. Over and over until Matt felt a familiar twitching feeling. A feeling that was simply agonising yet he seemed to love it until the very last moments.

Russia kept his pace up, briefly casting a glance down when something warm and wet splashed up at his abdomen, then his eyes fixed themselves back to Canada's face. The boy's sandy fringe was plastered to his flushed cheeks and forehead. His chest heaved as he took exaggerated breaths, trying to find his strength whilst waiting to be filled with Ivan's seed.

He was soon rewarded with a torrent of hot semen gushing up his prostate, some leaking out when Ivan decided to pull out. He didn't wait for his entire load to come out, and immediately turned away from Matthew on the bed, reaching for the empty mug on the side.

Matthew's head lolled to the side. His breaths slowed at a more controlled pace. His body was still damp with a mixture of bodily fluids; Russia's sweat and seed mixed with his own. His bandages and bruises were covered in the sticky substances – he'd need a hot bath to get clean and then maybe he could ask for some clean dressings for his wounds. The last thing the Canadian wanted was to let the open welts get infected.

"Drink. You're thirsty now, _da_?"

The mug was thrusted into Canada's hands. Peering inside the ceramic cup the blonde could see a thick whitish liquid that sloshed whenever he handled the mug too quickly. It wasn't very full; perhaps only a quarter or one third was filled. But immediately Matthew knew what it was – the musky smell it possessed was another damned giveaway.

Ivan's hand was still stroking his now-placid cock, a dubious look on his face. Just to fill the cup this much Canada imagined he'd had to worked himself a few times to really empty his sac.

"All of it." Matt cringed. He put the rim to his lips and opened his quivering lips, the warm liquid pouring into his mouth, simply necking it down. It didn't even hit the side of his throat. He just wanted it to be over and soon enough it was.

Taking the mug and replacing it with the plate of prepared apples, Ivan settled onto the bed and pulled Matthew into one arm. Matthew was resisting the urge not to gag or vomit; even with Gilbert he had never been fond of the taste of semen. The gluttonous texture mixed with the salty taste and musky scent was just… foul.

Matthew was cold again. The warmth built up after the harsh sex had faded already, the pair were on the bed, naked. The blanket had been tossed aside and now laid in a heap on the floor. Only by scooting down and burying his head against Ivan's underarm could he escape the cold shame and humiliation he was feeling and forced into by his Russian lover.

A small segment of apple was held to the boy's mouth. He stared quietly at it for a moment, temporarily lost in his own lonely thoughts before Ivan pushed to his lips, encouraging him to take it in and eat it. In turn Ivan also took a piece, chewing it soundly. All the time he rubbed his hand over the bandaged arm of his lover.

He genuinely loved his Matthew. How he admired the young country. His child-like innocence, his youthful beauty. Everything masking the true power and independence of the northern nation.

Shortly after Matthew was made to stay here, shortly after they made love the first couple times, Ivan had decided his love was no longer fake. He had a companion all of his own. One unlike Estonia or Lithuania. This male possessed spunk and attitude yet could be controlled with a simple smack or 'light' beating. Just like the others.

But his punishments were never meant to be so brutal. So this was all he could think of to conciliate his actions. He'd heard from France that sex was the best way to make another feel better, especially after a fight or argument.

What the naïve Russian didn't understand was that both participants had to find the sex enjoyable and not just by whoever happened to initiate the activity.

Yes. Even if he ended up sending little Benjamin away to an orphanage, Matthew would remain as his lover. Once Benjamin was erased from their lives they could start anew. He could sire his own child with Matthew mothering it, even. How wonderful. And nobody would come looking for him.

Russia nuzzled Canada once more.

Nobody.


	16. Failed Precautions

**Chapter 15:**** Failed Precautions**

**********Date:** 30**th January, 2013**

* * *

"Wake up, _moya lyubov_."

Canada mumbled something incoherently, rolling to his side. His backside throbbed and his body felt sticky, like he'd rolled in a big pile of maple syrup and left it to congeal on his skin. Now that he thought about it, he really fancied some of that sweet sticky substance, drizzled over piping hot pancakes. Maybe with some ice cream or honey or bacon on top. Smacking his lips hungrily, he delicately rolled over on his stomach rather absently to face the Russian.

Sometime after last night's sex, once the plate of apple was eaten, Russia had cradled his love's head and petted him gently until the first snores were heard. Russia had then pulled the boy's drawstrings back on, remaining bare himself, and then settled into bed with Canada snuggled at his side.

But now morning had come and Ivan needed to get up in preparation of Berwald, whom promised to arrive by noon to build Benjamin's crib.

Matthew mumbled softly allowing Ivan to help him into an upright sitting position. His belly and bottom was covered in dried patchy-sticky semen and sweat. A small blotted trail of blood stained the bed sheets around his legs – it seemed Toris would be adding them to the washing machine today.

Ivan got out of bed, throwing on his bathrobe.

"Let's get you in the bath, _da_?" The groggy Canadian felt himself get scooped up in big strong arms. "Then let's go downstairs for breakfast."

In the ensuite Ivan kneeled beside the bathtub, testing the water as it gushed into the tub. Not too cold or too hot… but at a considerable level of warmth. Some bubble bath (sunflower and honey scented; Ivan's favourite that Maria had bought him) was poured in. His attachment to the cute boy was growing, the longer he spent with him. He just wanted to stay with him no matter what. It was as if he'd convinced himself that Matthew was helpless and needed constant attention and that only he could give it to him. Gilbert was not good enough.

Turning the water off, Ivan turned to Matthew. He was perched on the toilet seat, twiddling his thumbs silently. He put up no struggle when Ivan began to unwrap the bandages although when the intimidating Russian prodded some of the sores testingly, he couldn't help but squirm with discomfort.

The old dressings were dropped into a pile by the toilet, shortly followed by the pyjama bottoms. Within moments Canada was placed in the tub. He let out a soft hiss as the soapy water contacted his wounds, taking a moment before the pain subsided and allowed him to relax into it.

Ivan took a moment to survey the damage. The damage he'd caused him the previous morning, even playfully tracing circles over the bites he'd left during previous sexually filled nights.

Armed with a flannel Ivan scrubbed the caked semen-sweat-blood mix from his body. The relaxing scent of the bubbles seemed to have no effect, for Matthew remained rather tense with his shoulders squared and eyes staring emptily at the steadily discolouring water. Moreso when Ivan glided a hand over his wet belly, which only earned him a little shiver.

The Russian's pale face creased into a subtle frown but for Matthew's sake he kept smiling.

His little Canadian's body was no longer as muscular as it had been; weeks of being stuck indoors without even so much a step outside to put the garbage out or collect firewood for the hearth had seen his bulk reduce to nothing but a little flab. He was beginning to look more like a slinky sixteen year old more than anything now.

But Ivan downright refused to let him leave the confines of the household. He was safe here. And _loved._

* * *

After the bath, Ivan had raided the medicine cabinet to find some soothing ointment for the wounds but could only find an old bottle of rubbing alcohol and a packet of clean gauze and bandages…

Matthew's uniform had been washed, dried, ironed and left folded neatly on the bed. Ivan only assumed one of the Baltics had brought it up whilst they were in the bathroom but was grateful. He helped his sore lover cloth himself before throwing a casual brown jacket, a white dress shirt and a simple pair of matching pants on himself.

By the time they arrived in the dining room, breakfast was laid out and the Baltics were chatting quietly among themselves. Because there was no high chair for him, Benjamin, dressed in a white shirt and brown pants, was held in the crook of Toris' arm. The baby cried, refusing the bottle that was being offered.

But who could blame him? He'd seen his parent being abused and then ceased to see him for nearly an entire twenty-four hours – even at Russia's request the baby was made to sleep with Toris in the guest room for the night.

The Lithuanian's eyes were dull. Hours of constant crying had left him too exhausted to fight the infant and was infact delighted when Canada flashed him a compassionate smile and took the weeping baby from him.

The 'family' ate in silence from that point on. Ivan occasional struck up a few words with Toris or Eduard or Raivis, questioning them on their chores of the day and whether any of them would be going to town for supplies anytime soon. Then, small talk concerning Sweden coming over was briefly brought into the conversation.

Benjamin eventually settled, but still didn't allow his Papa to feed him the bottled formula, which naturally worried Matthew. With Berwald coming over it would mean the basement for them again. But Matthew didn't mind; the longer Sweden stayed, the longer he could spend with Benjamin.

* * *

For the rest of the morning, Russia's mood had changed considerably. In a good way, that is.

He allowed Matthew to keep Benjamin with him whilst he dusted the bedrooms. Ivan had sharply reminded everyone that he wanted the house to look presentable for Berwald's arrival; oh how embarrassing would it be if it the place was dusty and misplaced?

Ivan certainly wouldn't allow that.

Eduard was in the living room, adding logs to the fire. Raivis and Toris were in the garden collecting more wood, Matthew and Benjamin were still upstairs and Ivan was locked away in the study attending to his paperwork.

Eduard was use to completing chores by himself in such a lonely manner. Today was slightly different however; Russia's large brown cat was snoozing on the couch. Such a friendly feline. Sometimes he'd talk to the cat, never expecting the conversation to be anything but one-sided filled with meaningless topics. Things such as what groceries they needed or what they would have for supper never interested Russia-cat – he was too busy dreaming about tuna and dishes of milk with tipples of vodka to care. But he enjoyed the petting of his fur all the same.

The phone rang, catching Eduard by surprise. He scuttled over and answered.

"Yes, hello? Who is this?"

"…Mmf..." Eduard paused, flinching a little at the deep grunt from the other end.

"Ah… Sweden?"

"…Ja. It's me."

"C-can I help you?" He prayed the man wasn't calling up to cancel his journey over.

"…I s'pose. I'm on my way ov'r. Finland and Sealand too. Sh'uld be ov'r sooner than lat'r."

"Oh… that's fine… why's Finland-"

"… S'not well. Can't leave h'm and Peter alone."

"Oh… I'll let Russia know."

"… Thank ya… we'll b' there in a little while… half an hour maybe."

"Alright… that's fine."

For a moment there was no reply and so Eduard assumed the Swede hadn't hung up properly. He was about to end the call himself.

"…Estonia?"

"Y-yes?"

Berwald hesitated in silence. He still held his suspicions about Canada but had a strong feeling that Estonia wouldn't openly admit to anything over the phone. He'd talked to Fin earlier, wondering if he thought the idea was plausible. If Canada might possibly be under the iron fist of the Russian as well, Sweden would find a way to salvage his escape.

But he needed Fin's help to do it. Sealand couldn't know quite yet.

"…Neverm'nd. See ya soon."

Sweden's voice was quickly replaced by the monotonous drone of the line. Slowly Estonia replaced the receiver. Russia-cat mewed from his cushion, breaking into a series of soft purrs when the Baltic scratched his head. Without a word, he left the room to tell Russia the news, be it good or bad in his master's eyes.

* * *

The news was delivered and Estonia was quickly dismissed. Then the usual routine was in order; Canada and Benjamin went down to basement. Matthew took a blanket down with them and a cushion from the couch just in case it got too cold or either wanted to have a nap, as well as some diaper-changing stuff.

Ivan told him they'd be down there well into the afternoon so he'd send some lunch down. With a young boy-nation and the cheery Finland around, Russia would take extra precautions to ensure neither wandered into the basement.

* * *

Ivan decided to give his other servants a rest when his guests finally arrived. For a change he decided to be the nice guy and allow Latvia and Estonia to catch up with their friends whilst Lithuania accompanied himself and Sweden upstairs.

"Latvia, let's play!" Peter took his friend's hand, dragging him upstairs to the bedrooms in search of toys or games. Raivis didn't have the heart to tell him there weren't any.

Tino and Eduard went for tea in the kitchen. The trip was long and the poor Fin was feeling under the weather still with an uneasy though grumbling stomach. Breakfast had come up in a torrent much to his and Sve's disgust. The only thing Estonia could offer him for a small snack was a simple bowl of bland milky porridge and some water.

Shortly after their arrival, Sweden set to work, measuring and marking the pieces of wood he'd brought according to his carefully planned blueprints.

Sweden glanced up from his work. The planks of timber he'd brought were marked and ready for cutting.

"Is there s'mewhere else I c'n cut these?" He asked dully. He had all the tools he needed, but the tidy Swede didn't think the guest room was an appropriate place to do any sawing. Russia sipped from a bottle of vodka.

"_Nyet_. This is fine," He took another sip. "Lithuania can clean up later." Sweden glared quietly at Russia. Their gazes locked – a faux smile met a harmless frown. Surprisingly however, it was Sweden who broke away first.

"I… would appreciate a mor' appropriate work space," Sweden also wanted to be able to look around. Perhaps he could find some clues to confirm his beliefs. "Might b' better."

* * *

Down in the secured basement, Canada was busy amusing his son. The child wasn't capable of sitting upright on his own yet so Canada sat him between his legs on the floor, allowing him to lean against his chest for support.

A blue sock puppet with drawn-on features danced before the baby, making small childish noises. Benjamin lunged for the plaything with a giggle.  
Playtime with Papa was always the best time in the world!

Matthew chuckled warmly. The moments he treasured the most for sure. But today he wasn't feeling brilliant. A small sickly feeling gurgled within the depths of his gut… for his son's sake; he shook it off and refused to show weakness.

"You're tired now, eh?" Matthew took the puppet off and caught Benjamin by his armpits, hoisting him into his arm. With the other he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, recalling his refusal to eat at breakfast. "Your tummy must be empty, so let's get something in you, okay?"

Given the ultimate choice, Matthew would downright refuse to feed the month-old anything but breast milk until he was at least seven or eight months. Ivan's decision for formula made it more convenient for the Baltics to feed him as well. But the child hated the artificial powered crap from a box.

Matthew wasn't surprised when he immediately latched onto a nipple. He caressed the baby's silvery hair, tickling his scalp with the lightest touch.

A good feed later, Benjamin pulled away. As per usual the child was burped, then changed his diaper shortly after before being wrapped in the blanket. Matthew slipped the cushion beneath his small head. The baby drifted off without needing further encouragement.

The basement walls were thick and concrete – the room was practically soundproof. He heard nothing from the outside world and vice versa.

Canada nearly nodded off himself until he heard the door unlock and a voice hiss out in a low whisper.

"Canada?"

"Lithuania?" Toris shot a nervous glance over his shoulder then stepped inside keeping the door ajar.

"Canada, Russia needs the basement for Sweden."

"Why?"

"It… it doesn't matter. Now hurry; gather up Benjamin. I'll take you to my room until mister Sweden is gone." Automatically he did as he was told, being gentle as though not to wake the infant.

"We must be quick about it. Finland's in the kitchen and Sealand is roaming the upstairs rooms." Matt nodded, following him up the stairs. Toris kept a few feet in front, leading the way with a wary eye. Up on the second floor he could hear laughing – not from any of the older nations and most certainly not from Russia. Obviously that cheery little youth Sealand was having a splendid time… with whatever it was he was doing.

They scurried up the flight of stairs and along the corridor, silent as mice. Everything had turned rather quiet although occasional soft giggles emitted by Peter erupted from the guest room.

"Quickly now." Lithuania pushed the door of the Baltic's bedroom open. Canada walked in towards the bed. Benjamin stirred soundly. Canada placed him gently on the mattress, joining him.

"Has he eaten yet?"

Matthew nodded. Toris smiled.

"I'll try and bring you in something to eat, if I can get Finland out of the kitchen for a while." At that he left allowing Matthew to finally fall asleep in comfort, locking the door just to be safe.

* * *

Sweden made no attempt to communicate with Russia. The wood and tools were carried downstairs to the basement with the help of little Sealand and Latvia. Russia followed. As soon as everything was in the basement, the children were sent away, telling them to have Estonia make them some cocoa and titbits in the dining room.

Sealand thought nothing of this and ran off to the kitchen followed by a more cautious Latvia.

"What's this?" Sweden had found the sock puppet on the floor.

"It is just an old toy." Berwald frowned with disbelief.

"Estonia said on the phon' that you had a long t'rm guest an' h's baby…"

"_Da_. But they're out in Moscow for the day."

"Is that right?"

"_Da_."

Berwald continued to work at a precise and diligent pace. The crib was about halfway complete. Already it was nicely taking form. With each series of hammers the crib became a little more complete.

* * *

Finally, after a good hour and a half or so, the Swede put the hammer down.

"Is there a bathroom I c'n use?" Ivan was sat in the same kitchen chair Matt had used many times before, vodka in one hand. He stared sleepily into the bottle only looking up moments after Berwald spoke.

"_Da_… upstairs. First room on the left."

Sweden had no intention of taking a piss or splashing himself with water to cool down after the work. His task was complete with now a new challenge in mind.

He tip-toed along the landing. He left no room untouched with the determination to find more clues of Matthew living here rather than some guest. Who would this guest be anyways? The nations had a tendency not to be too friendly towards humans unless they worked for them, were members of authority or meant something to them. So keeping these in mind, Berwald couldn't quite pinpoint why the scary Russian would want a human friend when he had nation servants.

No room was left un-peeked. No closest left unturned. But he worked quickly lest he work up Russia's curiosity.

Then, he came to the Baltic's room. Toris had mistakenly left it unlocked during his last visit. The door swung with a slight creak.

Two forms were rested on the bed – one tiny, one large. Both humanoid. Sweden's eyes widened. He checked hastily over his shoulders making sure nobody was behind, and stepped inside.

Strolling towards the bed, one of the forms became very recognisable; the dirty-blonde hair, the pale, chubby-cheeked face, the slender form…

"America?"

No. The hair was too long. This boy's hair was longer, wavier and was missing that Nantucket ahoge. That was replaced by a single long gravity-defying curl. A small silver-haired baby was tucked beside him, bundled in blankets.

"Canada?" The Swede crouched beside the bed. His eyes were ablaze with confusion yet satisfaction. Now he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get the boy and baby out of the house unnoticed along with Fin and Sealand.

Those bandages didn't go unnoticed. What the hell were they hiding?

"I'll get ya out." Sweden promised, taking his leave. First, he had to find Finland and conjure a plan to complete the rescue.


	17. Crime and Punishment

**Chapter 16:**** 'Crime' and Punishment**

Another long-ass chapter. Enjoy!

**********Date:** 30**th January, 2013**

* * *

"You're a bit curious, aren't you?"

No sooner had Sweden stepped outside the Baltic's bedroom he heard Russia's voice. The man was standing by the wall away from the door with crossed arms. His favourite beating implement held in one hand.

"Russia… wh't is the me'ning of th's?" Russia cocked his head slightly, shoulders squared.

"I don't understand what you're talking about." Sweden's deep blue eyes flashed angrily but he remained composed. He would not allow Russia to play these mind games with him. He was aware of the faucet pipe in Ivan's hand and knew very well himself that this was the weapon of choice for the Russian.

"Why is it th't ya keeping h'm here?" Sweden wondered if this something to get back against the Western nations after the cold war, or perhaps even to spite poor Prussia.

"What I do with what belongs to me is none of your concern."

"Everyone th'nks he's dead…"

"But surely that's their problem, _da_?"

Ivan approached raising the pipe.

"I suggest you leave now, Sweden. Thank you for completing the crib – I'll let you know if baby likes it."

From within the room, Benjamin began to cry. Both the Nordic and Russian automatically turned their attention to the source of the cries. It wasn't like either of them had been very loud, so the root of the infant's problem laid elsewhere. Or, the child was kicking up a fuss for no particular reason.

Ivan lowered his arm. Matthew was beginning to stir already.

"Mm… Benji, what's wrong?" Matthew was unaware of his peers. But he was too groggy to care even if he was. He sniffed Benjamin's diaper. Nope. No problem there. He bared his chest assuming he was hungry… but he wasn't. "Oh… maple… are you sick?"

Berwald resisted the urge to rush inside and grab the child and nation and make a run for it. But if he did, his wifey and son were prone to harm.

"I will n't let this go, Russia."

"S-sir…? I d-didn't see you there…" Canada piped. He was rather shocked to see Sweden standing by the doorway.

"Go back to sleep, Canada. And quieten the little one up, okay? Lithuania's already heard enough of _that_ last night."

Berwald shook his head to himself. Brushing past Ivan, he hurried down the stairs to collect his own family. The tools he'd brought would have to wait; he didn't want to spend any more time in the Russian's mansion. He couldn't bear losing Fin to Russia again, or his little Peter for that matter.

* * *

"Look, Papa! Estonia made us cherry kissel!"

Latvia and Sealand were in the kitchen with Mama Fin and the elder two Baltics, sampling the soupy fruit dessert Estonia had made when Sweden burst in. Fin was looking remarkably better since this morning. The fact that he hadn't vomited the easy snack up was a bonus.

"W-would you like to try some, Sweden?"

"Can't. We need t' go now." Gathering his small family up, Berwald began to hastily herd them out.

"Sve, w-w-wait a second!"

"Papa!"

"'m sorry. We can't stay any longer."

The car was waiting outside in the gravelled drive. Peter whimpered when the sharp winds whipped his cheeks, flicking his hair teasingly. He was still trying to pull his coat on when Berwald unlocked the vehicle and helped them both inside before pulling himself into the driver's seat.

"Sve, what's wrong…?"

"Papa, you didn't even let me say goodbye to Raivis…"

As soon as he started the engine and had it driving down the private lane towards the roads, Berwald hadn't yet figured what to tell them.

"Peter, wh'n we get home, go t' ya room."

"What?! Papa, I didn't do anything!"

"I know. But me and Mama need t' talk."

* * *

Canada now sat cross-legged on the bed in his and Ivan's room, babe in-arm. Russia had been gentle to him, talking about needing to hand out a punishment. Now he was worried. The room had been locked firmly keeping the Canadian from interfering with the chastising of a certain Baltic. He prayed for whoever it would be.

Estonia tidied the kitchen alongside his brothers, washing the dishes in which he'd served the kissel. Outside, the General was at his fiercest; the flimsy trees that sat on the boarder of the forest swayed against the gale, luckily stuck fast by their frozen foundations. He sighed softly. Like those frostbitten trees, he was stuck here. Forced to abide to the harsh treatment of the household with no freedom to call his own.

Suddenly, a blow to his skull knocked him out of his little daydream and into the tiled kitchen floor with a dull 'thud!'

He hadn't been given even enough time to push his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose when another blow of the lead pipe cracked the back of his head smartly, knocking the lenses from his face.

"How can I trust you now, Estonia?" Eduard cowered on the floor, body convulsing shakily. Ivan stood over him wielding his pipe again, launching a third strike. On the other side of the kitchen Raivis and Toris witnessed their brother's assault.

"S-s-s-sir… p-please… what did I-I do?" He reached with his hand to where the pipe had struck him and rubbed it tenderly. Re-examining his hand, he could see the red on his palm even without the aid of his specs.

"I don't appreciate having everyone aware of where my cute little Canada is. You had no right to tell Sweden," The third, fourth and fifth strike was applied. Estonia let out a loud cry with each swing. "Estonia. I suggest you listen carefully now, _da_?"

Eduard whimpered. Ivan kicked him. Hard. In the ribs.

"I would appreciate a proper answer."

"Y-y-yes sir…!" Eduard bit back tears.

"Good boy. Now then… my Matvey is not going anywhere. Estonia… I know you must've told our Swedish friend of our little secret. Didn't you?"

Estonia would be lying if he agreed. If anything he'd tried to hide Matthew and Benjamin by trying to pass them off as someone else. But protesting was out of the question.

"Y-yes sir…" Maybe his punishment would be less severe. Ivan's smile grew all the more dubious.

"That's what I thought."

This time the pipe brutally made contact with Eduard's head and shoulders in repeated blows. He cried out the first few times but afterwards no noise came from him except the sound of the lead pipe impacting his now-limp body.

Raivis and Toris stood wide eyed, horrified by this spectacle of Ivan's abuse. That could've been them being beaten to a bloodied mess right now… but in his rages, Ivan might very well turn to them to finish the job on their brother.

Fifteen or so strikes had been applied ending in a heavily unconscious and bloodied Estonia curled partially on the floor. Russia examined the dark splotches marking the weapon.

"Clean this up." He growled softly to Lithuania, pointing to the sputtered red on the floor tiles. He picked up the glasses then walked over to the fallen Baltic nation. He pushed the lenses neatly across the bridge of his nose and caught him firmly by his midsection, lifting him into his underarm to be carried off somewhere.

* * *

"Hush sweet child... _dormir bébé_…" The cries downstairs had further upset the child, provoking the tears to fall harder. Matthew sat bolt upright in the large bed, cradling the child's head against his chest, stroking Benjamin's chalky cheeks. His own family would be his top priority especially for such a tiny baby. Matthew had always wondered if the baby was perhaps a bit small for his age. He seemed perfectly healthy otherwise but his size did worry Matt a little.

_**He'll grow… hopefully…he can't possibly stay so little forever, can he...? **_Matthew thought to himself. He picked at the buttons on his shirt, prying it open again. This time Benjamin responded a little more positively and started feeding, earning a little head stroke whilst Matthew hummed softly under his breath. He didn't even notice the sound of the door unlocking.

"_Matvey_." Canada glanced up, a chill running down his spine.

"Y-yes, Russia, sir?" Ivan waltzed into the room. His legs were specked with crimson with even more smeared on his underarm and flank. In one hand he held two objects.

"_Matvey_, what are these?"

"They're… they're Benjamin's toys, sir… you've seen him playing with them before…? You said it was okay to have them..." Ivan took the homemade rattle and gave it a testing shake.

"You didn't put them away before you left, _Matvey_. Sweden saw them. Sweden saw the toys and Estonia told him about you."

"S-sir… I-I didn't mean to-"

"_Da_, I know. It's not Matvey's fault." Ivan threw the toys on the end of the Baltic's bed and crawled on himself, scooting closer to the Canadian and his suckling baby. He pulled Matt into his body, letting his large warm hands slip beneath his captive's shirt and resting them against the bump of his belly. "I'll hurt Sweden if he comes back for you. Matvey knows I will."

And Mattie knew 'hurt' meant 'kill'.

* * *

It was soon time for dinner in the Braginski household. Lithuania and Canada prepared a delicious beef stroganoff with cups of hot apple and cinnamon cider to drink, along with the usual bottle of vodka for Ivan's own palate and a bottle of milk formula for Benjamin. For dessert, Canada made pancakes served with bottled walnut syrup. It wasn't quite maple syrup but it did happen to contain some form of maple extract, giving it a lovely floral aftertaste along with a sweet nutty flavour.  
Matthew even dipped his finger in a bit of the sticky substance, allowing Benjamin to try it. He wasn't surprised when the child favoured the sweet sauce over the bottle and wanted more.

One thing Canada was grateful for was that he'd learnt to cook something some rather interesting dishes. Not that he enjoyed half of them.

They ate in near silence which was quite unusual. Normally even an angry Russia would start chatting to try and lighten the mood. Estonia did not join them which indeed worried his brothers. Canada too was curious until Latvia was made to tell what he saw. Canada could only grimace.

Afterwards, while Latvia and Lithuania were carrying the dishes out into the kitchen, Russia addressed Canada.

"_Matvey_, please bring Estonia his supper. There should be a fresh loaf in the larder."

"Where is he?"

"Down in the basement. The crib is down there too, so take baby to see. We'll bring it up before bed so baby can sleep in guest room."

* * *

Matthew struggled to juggle holding a fidgety Benjamin in one arm and a tray with Eduard's supper on it in the other. When Ivan had gone off to take a shower, Matthew had also slipped some bits and pieces from the first aid kit and a blanket from the airing cupboard with him.

After shuffling his armfuls around, he managed to open both basement doors and switched the light on.

Against the far wall, beside the wooden chair, was Eduard. His skin was covered in patches of mottle blue and black, stained with dark crusts of blood. His eyes seemed to flutter and with a low moan he craned his neck to get a better view of his visitor. His specs were on the ground again, one of the lenses cracked.

Matthew approached warily. He knelt down quietly setting the tray next to them, sitting Benjamin on the wooden chair against the cushion he'd left there after earlier.

"Canada?"

"Matthew. Just call me Matthew, okay?" Eduard nodded, staring blindly. Unlike Matthew who was merely long-sighted and capable of navigating, Eduard could barely see a thing – without his glasses, everything was a big blurry jumble of hazy colour and broken shapes that he simply couldn't define.

Matt picked the glasses up, promptly pushing them back where they belonged.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Are you feeling hungry?"

"Mm. I'm starving." Matthew did feel a bit guilty; all he had for him was two pieces of bread sliced from the loaf with a generous layer of fresh pear jam on each piece. He also brought him a mug of warm milk and a small apple.

"It's not much, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Thank you."

"Here; sit down just here and eat. I'll fix your wounds."

"You don't need to do that. I'll be fine."

"I can't let them get infected. Please, just hold still."

So, Eduard co-operated. Whilst he ate, Matthew cleansed his wounds with the bits he brought with him. He cleaned them up and applied a bit of salve, then put gauze over the welts and cuts before finally binding them nice and tight with the bandages. Eduard humbly thanked him but was sure to avert his eyes, feeling a bit awkward that Ivan's new favourite was being so kind as to try and repair the damage that had been caused. It wasn't like it had even been his fault yet Matthew seemed obligated to do something.

Eventually Eduard was all patched up. Matthew bundled the excess bandages into the pocket of his jacket deciding he could use them to re-dress his own injuries later.

"All done. You look much better now, too! Well… apart from some possible rib bruising…"

"Canada… you need to leave."

"W-what? I didn't mean to upset you, if I did… I didn't realise-"

"No," Estonia flashed him a meek smile. "I mean, you and Benjamin need to get out. You need to escape. Actually, I'm glad Sweden found you, if Russia was right. Maybe he and Finland will do something."

"What…? I-I can't leave… Russia won't let me… I mean, I haven't actually left the house in so long…" Eduard chuckled nervously.

"But Russia thought I was the one who told him you were here. I want to help you get out… you've got a family and friends waiting for you… right?" Matthew bit his lip. That was true… wasn't it?

"I… I don't think I can, Eduard."

Eduard turned towards the chair, pulling Benjamin into his arms, grunting when a sore spot was pressured.

"Matthew, listen to me. You can't let him grow up here. At some point, once he's outlived his use, Russia will get rid of him." Benjamin burbled softly, reaching up to try and grasp Eduard's features with pudgy hands. His large violent eyes glimmered with all the innocence in the world, filled with life and unconditional happiness.

* * *

Minutes later, Matthew ascended the basement stairs with the baby and tray. He dumped the tray in the kitchen, knowing Toris or Raivis would clean them later, and then rushed upstairs to his and Ivan's room. He quickly slipped into a night shirt and the usual drawstrings, finishing just as the door to the ensuite opened.

Ivan appeared in the doorway rubbing his frosty-beige hair with a towel. He wore nothing but a second towel tied simply around his waist.

"_Matvey_~ how was Estonia?" Matt turned away, blocking Benjamin's view when Ivan suddenly pulled the waist towel off, throwing it on the bed in order to put his own pyjamas on.

"Fine… I-I looked at his wounds and dressed them… I didn't think it'd do any good if they got infected…"

"Good," He pulled his pyjama bottoms on. "Your Papa is a sweet boy, _da_, Benjamin?" Benjamin didn't respond. His bright little eyes stared up a the scary man who sometimes made his Papa scream and cry, and the other nice men in the house scream and cry. The one who handled him so roughly yet spoke nicely to him.

"His crib isn't upstairs, is it? Did you get a good look at it?"

"I-I did… mister Sweden did a wonderful job."

"_Da_. But I want baby to start sleeping in it soon. We don't have any mattresses for it, so just for tonight he can sleep here. I'll go out to Moscow tomorrow."


	18. Sweden Takes Action

**Chapter 17:**** Sweden Takes Action**

**************Date:** 30**th January, 2013**

* * *

"Sve, tell me what's wrong? You made us leave in such a hurry!"

"'m sorry."

* * *

The family had returned home finally, early in the evening. Little Peter tired easily so carrying him inside the dark cottage was in order. He had been briefly woken to get him undressed and to have a quick supper of milk and a warm sausage roll to satisfy his little tummy before being made to brush his teeth. The time was now only past seven. Sve had forgotten all about sending Peter straight to his room; the last thing he needed now was for the micro-nation to kick up a fuss in protest. He would wait until bedtime.

They cuddled up on the couch with Hanatamago, Sweden lost with his thoughts whilst Finland and Sealand watched several re-runs of the Moomins until eight thirty. Between commercial breaks little Sealand would tell his Mama about his short time spent with Latvia. How they'd found a chess board in the study and played with it for a bit until Peter grew bored and pretended the pieces were army soldiers. Then he told Tino about how Peter made them play hide n' seek and treasure hunt until Eduard made them the kissel when they came romping down the stairs.

Sweden could only think with mere disbelief that he'd seen Canada… and didn't help him.

* * *

"Sve! I swear, if you don't tell me… you're making me mad!"

"'m sorry."

As soon as he'd gotten his bedtime story and a glass of water, Peter finally went straight to bed before nine despite procrastinating.

Berwald and Tino laid in bed, side by side, Hana sleeping at their feet. All night Tino had been dying to know what was on the Swede's mind. His lack of informative answers was beginning to piss the Fin off, funnily enough. Tino hated to badger him on such matters but he certainly was no pushover! Even if he was still feeling a bit queasy…

"It's Russia."

"Huh? What about him?"

"He's h'din' Canada."

"What?! Oh… Sve, you don't believe that too, do you?" Sweden broke his eye contact with Finland instead directing it to the ceiling. He sighed softly.

"Denmark w's right. 'm sure it w's h'm."

"Sve, that's not funny! Y'know, Canada's family would be horrified if you started talking like that!"

"'M serious. I saw h'm. He's covered 'n b'ndages an' he's got a b'by."

"You can't be serious, Sve… Denmark was a bit tipsy when he told us… and he told us that Russia had a guest over with a kid."

"Denmark said he saw Canada too, rem'mber? He j'st chose to beli've wh't he w's told. Russia even adm'tted it to me…" Tino stared up at Berwald with a distant look in his eyes. After a minute he slowly shook his head.

"N-no… no, Berwald… surely you're mistaken… you've been under a lot of stress lately… I haven't been helping around the house and... and…" Urged by a feeling of guilt and supported by anxiety, Tino edged his way across the mattress until his head hit the side of Berwald's shoulder. Very slowly he relaxed against him, hooking his own arm into the Swede's and clutching tightly.

"S'not ya th't's the probl'm." At that, Sweden suddenly threw the sheets from his own body and got up from the bed. Finland fell sideways against the empty spot with a soft thump. When he looked up Sweden was already pulling off his pyjamas and replacing them with his usual black shirt and tie, black pants under heavy boots and finally his blue overcoat with the matching uniform hat.

"Sve? W-where are you going?"

"Out. B' back by noon t' make l'nch. G't some sleep, 'kay?" Sweden stooped by the bed, planting a gentle kiss between Fin's eyes.

"Sve!" But he was already gone, the front door downstairs certifying his departure, leaving a slightly distressed Tino behind.

* * *

Sweden might've been a bit hasty. Maybe a bit stupid. But he wanted to do the right thing for the Russian's captive. It would be big news amongst the nations once it got out that Matthew's disappearance was caused by none other than the shifty Ivan. It would certainly give reason to avoid him in the future.

Sweden took the car. He'd have to be very careful on his mission – Russia was potentially a dangerous man. There was reason to why many were uneasy around him, he knew. When his Finland was finally released from his control he'd initially come back a quieter meeker man. It'd taken several long months of tender loving care for the sweet Fin to spring back to his old cheery self.

There was no way he would allow his wife to come, even if he begged. It had to be a one-man mission.

Snowfall had ceased over the country as Berwald drove along the quiet country roads, therefore offically beginning his long drive. His mind bubbling with the foundations of his plans. His only means of defence in-case of attack? An ordinary straight-stick baton.

The white moon hung like a beacon in the night sky lighting his way across the frosted countryside until he took a serious of turns and ended up on the freeway. Even here traffic was dramatically minimal.

Berwald put his foot down, speeding down the desolate roads, icy eyes ablaze.


	19. Somewhere in Moscow, Somewhere in Vienna

**Chapter 18:**** Somewhere in Moscow, Somewhere in Vienna**

**Date: 30th January, 2013**

* * *

The Braginski household was dark. The doors and windows of the eerie mansion were shut and firmly locked with curtains drawn. Ivan himself had inspected each possible outlet, even going as far as locking his bedroom door from the inside, therefore keeping himself, Matthew and Benjamin secure from the outside world.

Before lock-down Matthew had popped down to the basement just to give Eduard an extra blanket and a soft pillow. He had already fallen fast asleep on the old wooden chair, so Matt simply pulled the blanket over, sliding the pillow behind his head to make him more comfortable.

Then, as not to disturb him, toddled back upstairs to the bedroom where he found Ivan bathing Benjamin in the ensuite. Once he was dry and in his pyjamas (an old nightshirt donated by Raivis) with a fresh diaper, they went to bed.

They slept through and through the night, only lightly being disturbed when the child who slept in his Papa's arms wailed out of hunger or because he'd soiled himself and needed changing. Ivan didn't appear to mind – it was something that happened quite frequently because of how Benjamin spent nearly every evening with them. But he was looking forward to when the crib was fully prepped.

* * *

**Date: 31st January, 2013**

* * *

Morning soon arrived after a total of four nightly awakenings. Ivan waited patiently until the baby and parent woke up before getting dressed and taking them down for the morning meal which as always, was sitting on the table. Ivan excused himself briefly only to return with a rather sorry looking Eduard at his side. His bandages were missing revealing his wounds – much to the Baltic's and Matthew's relief, they were healing well.

"Lithuania, are you ready?"

"Y-yes sir. Let me just get the shopping list…" As promised, Ivan was heading out to Moscow until dinner time with Toris to collect some goods, including a crib mattress.

"_Matvey_~ remember, no leaving the house, _da_? I'll leave you in charge while we're out. _Dasvidania_." Matthew nodded slowly, remembering his manners. Benjamin was cradled in one arm, a mop in the other and a bucket of soapy water at his feet on the kitchen tiles.

"Y-yes, Russia, sir. _Au revoir_."

Ivan smiled, cocking his head slightly before turning, the tails of his trench coat flicking at his ankles. Toris charged after him through the door, ensuring he had his hat and gloves on and the list in his pocket.

Up until the front door shut soundly and the sound of Russia's automobile driving off down the lane everyone left in the house had been as silent as mice, pretending to continue their work in the kitchen. Once they were relieved of their controller, all three of them – Latvia, Estonia and Canada – let out little sighs, allowing their shoulders to sag. Russia would be out for a good three or four hours at least, perhaps longer if a snow storm heaved the roads with piles of freshly fallen snow. If that were to happen they would be rewarded with five or six hours minimum. It was strictly forbidden for anyone to take a break when there was work to be done, with the exception for one at noon for an hour. Dusting, polishing, disinfecting, wood chopping… all of those tasks that could be completed. Even when Matthew brightly suggested they get everything done quickly in order to free up several hours of 'me-time' for themselves, Latvia and Estonia downright refused.

Since arriving here Matthew wondered how his fellow servants felt. If they ever wished to be free and to be independent from Ivan. Somehow, Matthew couldn't read the creases that had formed on their faces. Whether they so desperately did but were too afraid to say just in case Ivan had the house bugged and cameras on them constantly… or if they genuinely wanted Ivan to continue protecting them. Matthew could only wonder if he'd also become as broken and as apprehensive as these wretched beings.

* * *

Approximately two hours passed. Already the household dusting, dish washing and drying, vacuuming and general this-and-that was done. Matthew admired how efficient the other two were, particularly without the dreadful mister Russia looming over them to keep a sharp eye on their progress.

All was rather peaceful until the darling little Benjamin, whom was lying in a make-shift cot of sofa cushions and blankets on the living room floor with Russia-cat, began to screech.

"I-I got, I got!" Said Raivis, making a dash for the baby. Eduard and Matt were in the kitchen again, Eduard allowing the Canadian to check his wounds again whilst they took their lunch break. The young nation quickly returned, yelping suddenly when the tiny human child grabbed at his blonde locks.

"I-I don't know what's wrong with him, Matthew…" He squeaked. Matthew was surprisingly maternal, even towards the two younger Baltic nations, as though he were their big brother or a caring parent. The Canadian quickly washed his hands beneath the sink; for his fingers were covered in anti-bacterial wound ointment, and promptly took his son, thanking the Latvian.

Matthew delicately ran a finger through Benjamin's silver hair. God, he was looking more and more like his father every day. Gilbert would be proud. The crying softened after a moment when Benjamin felt his hair being slicked back. He pursed his pale lips, cooing softly between hiccupping breaths.

Eduard slid down from the kitchen counter, examining his ointment-slathered welts before turning to the cupboards. They still had a good three-quarters of an hour left of their lunch break and with the little things out of the way, it was time to eat.

"What do you guys want to eat?" He asked, opening a cupboard door. Latvia raided the fridge, coming up empty.

"There's nothing in here!"

"That's why Russia went out… I could make kissel…?" Estonia replied, pulling out a box filled with kissel-mix sachets.

"I don't want kissel… there's no luncheon meat left either."

"Well, what do you want other than meat?"

"Crepes?" Estonia frowned.

"As long as you make them, fine. Have crepes."

"But I always burn them… Toris usually makes the crepes and blini for us."

Matthew smiled, hugging Benjamin gently against his uniform jacket. He would prepare of a warm bottle of formula in just a moment. First, however, he needed to help sort out these two.

"If we've got some eggs I could make some pancakes. I think there's still some walnut syrup in the cupboards. If you want, I could make some?" Raivis' little face lit up.

"Really?" Raivis loved Matt's homemade pancakes. "Yes, please! Can we? They're better than that crap packet-kissel you make, Eduard!"

A small jolly-sort of smile formed of Matthew's face as the brothers quarrelled. Multi-tasking, Matthew rocked Benjamin in one arm whilst gathering the needed ingredients and equipment with the other and placing them on the work surface, ready for pancakes.

* * *

The East German was eating healthily once again, much to his brother's delight, and had stopped hiding away up in the attic for the majority of the past couple days.

The only problem was… well… Gilbert had needs. Needs that had to be satisfied. So, the evening before he decided pay a visit to his ex-lover. It would not be anything special – he told himself – just a chance to relieve himself of urges that he couldn't otherwise take care of for himself.

No… he couldn't love another again just yet, not with Matthew still burning freshly within his memories.

He told himself that this fling was just to help himself along. Nothing more, nothing less.

The albino glared quietly at the alarm clock sitting on the bedside dresser. It's noon. With a soft grumble he turned in the bed, pulling the covers on his side of the bed over his raw form, facing the other who was seemingly dozing contently. They'd had a late, long night, enjoying themselves in rough activiity 'til the hours of the morning with the assistance of booze and their own heated lust.

Now it seemed that both of them had suffered from the hangover. Gilbert scooted closer to his companion, shifting his slender pale arms until they were firmly wrapped around the waist of the other nation. Pulling him close with a sluggish heave, Gil pushed his nose into messy brown hair and let out a rather exaggerated sigh.

_"Take them off."_ Gil ignored the German-spoken request. Infact, his grip tightened a tad.

_"What's wrong, Roddy? The awesome me too awesome for you?"_

_"No; it's because you're freezing. So if you could be so kind…?"_ Gilbert gave the Austrian a lasting squeeze before releasing with a small snort of annoyance. Why couldn't the stupid aristocrat appreciate simple gestures like a hug? Matthew always loved it when they use to cuddle.

Roderich rolled to face the Prussian, face contorting with the dull throbbing that was flaring from the back of his skull. But to his surprise, Gilbert had slid from the bed and was on the floor, rooting around for his underwear. Once he had them he pulled them on and began the search for the remainder of his clothes.

_"What's with that face?"_ Gil suddenly asked, throwing his dress shirt on and fastening up the buttons. Roderich jerked his head away, his flimsy cowlick falling over his furrowed brow before bobbing back up into place.

_"I just didn't realise you only wanted to fuck and go."_ Gilbert snorted, rolling his deep scarlet eyes, finally pulling up his jeans. He could tell by Roderich's choice of words that the aristocrat wasn't happy.

_"It's not like that, idiot. I just… I don't think I want to jump back into a relationship again. Not right now, anyways."_ Roderich turned back to him. He didn't even try to hide the heated bloom of colour that was growing upon his cheeks. Austria resisted the urge to childishly exclaim why that was – of course, he knew though. He knew Prussia was still sore about his loss. Anyone would be, he was sure. But still… he felt a pang of jealously.

He'd been with Gilbert for nearly three decades and hadn't so much as shed a tear when they broke up several years ago. Now he was too bitter about losing Canada – a boy he'd been with for less than two years – to want to get back with himself!

_"So… you are going then?"_

_"Give me some time to think, okay? I want to be alone for a while…"_

_"There's a big shocker…! You're always saying that 'being alone is awesome!' and 'I don't need friends when I have myself!' but really…"_ Roderich shook his head, biting back a choice array of bitter words and tears. Words that he thought might sting the Prussian enough into making him stay. _"…really you're just a damned hypocrite, aren't you, Gilbert? A damned hypocrite who won't accept certain facts!"_

Gilbert gazed sadly over, noting a hint of jealousy in the other's eye. The nation he affectionately would refer to as 'young master' and more commonly 'stupid aristocrat' or 'snooty bastard', depending on his mood.

_"See you later, Austria. Maybe later, maybe tomorrow."_ But whenever Gilbert addressed him as so formally as that, Roderich knew he hadn't done anyone any favours. As a result, he only felt slightly ashamed as he watched the scruffily dressed albino trudge from the room and then from the house.

Of course… Gilbert still had needs. Needs that Matthew could no longer satisfy but Roderich could.

He knew at some point, he'd return to Roddy's bed to rekindle their love for each other, just like the old days.


	20. A Little Fever

**Chapter 19:**** A Little Fever**

**Date:**** 31st January, 2013**

* * *

Berwald stared down at his watch, although was quite aware of the time already, for this was the fifth or sixth time that he had checked since leaving the car.

Well… he certainly wasn't going to be preparing Tino's lunch anytime soon like he'd promised. The journey over had taken much longer than anticipated.

The tall Nordic was hunched over in the frosty bushes that lined the sides of the private lane, gloved hands clutching at his baton. Peering between the bushes just to make sure Ivan's car didn't suddenly reappear. He'd abandoned his own car under the cover of some iced trees down a country lane, in hopes that it'd help downsize the evidence he'd probably end up leaving.

He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the flakes that had collected on his pant legs and began to quietly pick his way over the ice-crusted earth down towards the mansion. Every now and again he flicked his tongue out to moisten chapped lips, caused by the dry yet frigid air.

With each soft breath a small cloud of mist formed before almost instantly evaporating upon contact with the chilly atmosphere. Now Berwald really was beginning to regret not taking a scarf or something warmer for his hands; something very different to his thin leather gloves.

* * *

"_Silence… chut, mon petit… silence, s'il vous plait_…" Canada was having his own problems now.

The pancake lunch had been made and consumed by the three young nations with a helping of walnut syrup. Baby Benjamin had become progressively more and more troublesome – refusing to take his bottle with the stubbornness of an ass whilst throwing a torrent of tears his Papa's way accompanied by a piercing wail that deafened the Baltics.

Matthew bounced the child fruitlessly in his arms, doing all he could to sooth him. A band of deep pink stretched from one cheek, across the bridge of his nose and then across the other side. God, it was bad enough that he wasn't feeling particularly well himself… perhaps he was catching whatever baby Benjamin had. His stomach was feeling a bit queasy but not enough for him to need to empty its contents.

The child paused momentarily, taking a deep sucking breath to refill his lungs of oxygen. Matthew wondered if the baby was contemplating another round. Raivis was stood to the side, holding his ears shut in a rather insensitive manner. He made no attempt to assist in anyway deciding he'd only get in the way. Eduard had escaped to the next room, fearing he might be asked to help. He was no good with the baby. Previously whenever the child cried he was the last one who could stop the tears, even making it worse. If he could help it Eduard would avoid being alone with Benjamin.

"What's wrong with him?! He's so loud!" Raivis remarked seconds into Benjamin's next round. Matthew bit at his abused lip. He pushed a hand over the child's forehead. Immediately he realised it was damp with a warm sweat and distinguishing heat.

"He's warm. I think he might be a little bit sick… a little fever, maybe," Matthew concluded dolefully, entangling his fingers in the child's soft locks, nuzzling the top of his head affectionately. "Is that it, baby?"

The child's sobs quietened down to low blubbers when Papa began to comfort him. A sharp pain shot through the back of his head and his flesh felt horribly hot and uncomfortable. His little tummy ached; a most awful feeling for one so young. Benjamin didn't understand this sick feeling. The child had never really experienced anything more uneasy than a soiled diaper – and of course, he'd worked out that by crying Papa would do something to make him better. Crying seemed to always put things right. It always seemed to make others tend to him, to make the bad weird feelings go away. But right now, even Papa couldn't make it go away.

Matthew held him upright against his chest, allowing Benjamin to rub his reddened cheeks and snotty nose into the collar of the uniform jacket. Unfortunately, Matthew had no idea how to deal with a fever-stricken baby. Did they need a different assortment of care than adults?

Now, what did Francis and Arthur use to do when he had a temperature as a toddler? It had been many years since anyone – let alone Arthur or Francis – had taken care of him during the incident of a cold or tummy bug. A couple hundred years, actually.

Oh Maple. Why did this have to be so difficult?

"Matthew," Aforementioned nation glanced up. "Take him for a cool bath and put him to bed – I'll come up with some medicine, okay?"

"A-a cool bath…?"

"If he's got a fever, it'll help lower his body temperature," Estonia told him, combing his fingertips through his bronze hair. "Then put him to bed, open up a window and keep him comfortable. Maybe try to feed him, too."

* * *

Matthew had trusted the Baltic's advice. Before he knew it he was up in Ivan's ensuite with Benjamin, filling the tub with lukewarm water. He'd pulled a clean folded towel from the airing cupboard to be used after.

The bath didn't go without hindrance; Benjamin had become irritable but manageable to handle as water was splashed over his little writhing body. As soon as he was dried and dressed in a loose nightshirt and given a fresh diaper, Matthew carefully laid the child down in the center of his and Ivan's shared bed.

The bedroom window now opened to allow a current of crisp winter air to flow in. Considering the fact that the panes had been covered in a thin crust of ice Matthew's incredible strength hadn't betrayed him when he pried it open.

Soon enough Matthew joined his son on the mattress. He pulled the child close, holding him with a protective arm as he pressed the palm of the other against Benjamin's forehead. It wasn't a terribly accurate way to check his core temperature but with no thermometer handy it'd have to do. He at least had good judgement which he could trust with such matters.

Still warm. Still very, very warm.

Matthew unpicked the buttons of his shirt and jacket to see if Benjamin would feed yet - he hadn't eaten anything really since his last twilight feeding. It really wasn't good for a tiny infant to reject his only means of obtaining nutriment. For the life of him Matthew couldn't quite entertain the thought of how his son had gotten so suddenly ill. Right now his priority was to nurse him back to health.

However, as predicted Benjamin refused to suckle.

"_S'il vous plait vous devez manger_, Benjamin." Matthew twiddled his son's silvery strands of hair, still very slightly damp from the bath. Benjamin pushed his pudgy little hands out against Matt's bared chest, turning his head away with avoidance. He didn't want to feed. Wondering if it was being brought on by the fever or if he genuinely wasn't hungry Matthew let out a little sigh. It wasn't like he could force feed him and frankly trying was something he didn't want to push the little one into such a thing.

Benjamin whined softly, rolling onto his back.

"Oh maple… why are you being so difficult? What would your _Vati_ think…?" Matthew's expression became sullen. "…Your _Vati_… I wonder how he's doing… you haven't met him yet, have you?" Baby Benjamin ignored him with a soft burbling whimper. Matthew continued stroking his scalp comfortingly with a little smile.

He hadn't talked to Benjamin about Gilbert much before. Ivan seemed to dislike the mention of the German when he was around – if he did, Ivan's aura would become unrealistically dark and uncomfortable for even the Canadian to be around. It seemed that even if Matthew even _thought_ about Gil, the intimidating Ivan would know, and would decide on some sort of punishment to chastise his 'lover' for thinking about another man.

"Canada? Is everything alright?" Estonia was standing in the doorway, a bottle and spoon in-hand.

"I'm fine, thank you. What's that you've got?" Pushing himself up against the headboard and pillows Canada gently pulled Benjamin onto his chest. With a smile Estonia walked over to the bed, perching himself on the edge. He offered the bottle and spoon which was eventually taken by a confused Canada.

"It's just some children's cold and fever medicine," Estonia confirmed, measuring out a spoonful. "Latvia got the chills a few months ago after he was sent to chop some wood and it seemed to work quite nicely. It's flavoured too so hopefully he'll take it…"

"I-I don't know, Eduard. He's refusing to suckle… so I don't think he'll want to take it... I don't want to upset his stomach..."

"It'll make him feel better," Eduard reassured quite firmly. He held the spoon to the child's sealed lips. "Come on, Benjamin, open wide~" He cajoled, grinning, determined to make it work.

Benjamin jerked his head away. What was this? What was this grown-up doing? His big violet eyes wavered. Tears were threatening to spill as little whines of protest began to grow from the back of his throat.

"Eduard, p-please don't… you're scaring him…"

"Come on Benjamin…! Just open your mouth a bit; this'll make you better, I promise."

"Eduard…! Stop…!" Dammit, why did Matthew have to speak so softly? Could Estonia not hear him?! The child's tears finally flowed when Eduard took his little wrist to restrain him whilst he pushed the tip of the spoon past his lips.

"Eduard!" And so seeing such forceful actions towards his offspring prompted a sharp punch of retaliation. Eduard let out a sharp yelp, flying backwards off of the bed and onto the floor with a weighty thud. The bottle of medicine splashed onto the carpet, spilling its entire contents of thick translucent syrup. The spoon dropped from Benjamin's lap and onto Canada. A trail of the thick golden goo dribbled from Benjamin's mouth leaving a sticky trail down his chin.

Canada realised his mistake – like America, he possessed incredible physical strength and performance, which he usually was able to control for a percentage of the time.

"O-oh maple! I-I'm so sorry! Eduard! I-I didn't mean to!" Hazily Eduard pulled himself up onto his knees. His glasses were sitting on the floor beside him after flying off from the impact. He lifted his fingers to his face, ghosting the pads of his fingers over the tender spot over his already bruised cheek, wincing at slight contact. He could already feel blood pooling under the flesh and quite soon the hue of his skin would become a rich, vivid purplish black once again.

"I-it's fine… Matthew… I'm sorry; I know I shouldn't have done that, but… I can't stand it anymore," Estonia moved his gaze to blindly lock eyes with his fellow servant. Although he couldn't quite see it, Matthew's expression was one of question and puzzlement. "Th-the constant crying… the abuse we – me and my brothers – suffer from since your arrival. The abuse Russia puts you through in exchange for Benjamin's safety… I… I just…" Eduard clutched the side of his head, tilting it forward and shaking it slowly from side to side. These actions… the way he was speaking… it was beginning to frighten Matthew. He pulled the quieting Benjamin into a hug, rocking back and forth with him.

Estonia seemed to snap out of it after a prolonged pause.

"Matthew, you need to leave. I… I really mean it this time. You can't stay here! Benjamin can't stay here!"

"I-I can't…! Ivan… he'll find me… I should stay-"

"Even if we have to, I, Lithuania and Raivis will help you to escape!"

"B-but if he finds out, he'll-"

"He'll probably beat us half to death. But he won't kill us – I promise."

They stayed quiet for a moment, Matthew apparently pondering this idea. The rushed sound of someone coming up the staircase made them look to the door. And soon enough, as though they'd been expecting it, Raivis stumbled into the room. He looked rather flustered; his hair a bit of a mess and beads of sweat breaking from his forehead. The teenaged nation caught ahold of the door frame to balance himself whilst he caught his breath, regarding the three already in the room with alarm.

"Raivis? What's wrong? Young man, what have you done?"

"Th-there's someone… someone in the house…! There's someone downstairs and it's not mister Russia or Lithuania…! Eduard!"


	21. Swedish Salvation

**Chapter 20:**** Swedish Salvation**

**Date:**** 31st January, 2013**

* * *

"Th-there's someone… someone in the house…! There's someone downstairs and it's not mister Russia or Lithuania…! Eduard!"

"What? How did they get in?!" Raivis just stood there, shoulders squared and shivering. "Just get in and be quiet!" Eduard stumbled as he quickly got to his feet, but righted himself in order to reach the gaping door and the younger Baltic nation. Raivis let out a sharp squeak of alarm when he was pushed into the room, dropping to his knees after losing balance from the 'light' shove.

Eduard held his breath when he popped his head out of the doorway and looked down the landing towards the staircase. Downstairs someone was plodding about, apparently rather casually. But they weren't coming up the stairs. Yet. Thank God.

Eduard tiptoed over to the landing rail. He hesitated briefly – his glasses still absent from the bridge of his nose thus rendering him half-blind. With his heart in his throat Eduard glanced over the rail down to the foyer and then along the base of the stairs, just in time to see the basement door creak. It had been left partially open – Eduard only assumed that whoever it was would be coming back up at any moment.

"This is not good!" He hissed through gritted teeth, returning to the bedroom. "I thought Russia locked the doors before he left!"

"W-what are we going to do?" Raivis whimpered, nervously rubbing rings on his wrists, avoiding Eduard's eye. The Estonian stooped to pick up his glasses before somebody stepped on them, cringing a little when the lens brushed the re-established welt that marked his cheek.

"Let's just hide for now," He replied with slight haste lacing his tones, taking Latvia by the arm and hoisting him onto the bed next to its current occupants. "Canada, d'you know where Russia keeps the key?"

"Th-the key…?"

"To the bedroom!"

"O-oh… right… erm… usually he keeps it in his sock drawer, eh." The way Estonia attacked the dresser like a wild animal reminded Canada of the times before whenever he'd cook up pancakes for Prussia and Kumajino's breakfast. It was an event that was over in a matter of seconds.

Benjamin was drawn up in his arms, held firmly against his chest as though he thought that either of his companions were about to whisk the child away from him. Matthew was always so paranoid that such a thing might happen, for the longer he spent with Benjamin in one go the more unwillingly he was to be separated. Ivan wouldn't have any of that, however – he always got his way when it was time for Papa Canada to resume his housework. Early discipline had taught Matthew that one of his underlings should never defy him. In this house, Ivan was the Lord and Master and they were the humble and doting servants.

Within moments the key was found and the door locked.

* * *

When Berwald had arrived at the house he had surveyed the whole perimeter to find a way in. He had been rather pleased to find one of the grand arched windows in the downstairs parlour unlocked and left open at a slight angle, giving the tall man the opportunity to get in without causing damage to the interior.

Of course, he was nothing more than an intruder at this point.

His hand gripped the handle of his baton, giving it a testing swing. The Baltics wouldn't physically try to apprehend him – for some reason they were afraid of the Swede.

The basement had been the first place to go. When he saw the cheaply put together playthings down here before along with the chair and a well-worn cushion, he assumed this was where the passive Canadian was being kept.

Sweden blinked and turned to look back up the basement stairs with restless eyes. Something – no, someone – was upstairs. He'd heard one of the doors shut along with some footsteps. Russia was most certainly not here but he was more than certain that Canada and at least one of the Baltics were.

The tall man ascended the steps again in a heartbeat, cutting across the foyer towards the bottom of the half-spiralled staircase. In his outer hand he kept a firm grip on his weapon whilst the other held the wooden banister that snaked along the length of the wall along the stairs. Where ever Canada was, he wasn't leaving without him or the baby.

* * *

"They're coming up the stairs!" Raivis whimpered. He was sitting up next to Matthew, leaning fretfully into his shoulder. Down by the foot of the bed crouched a trembling Eduard, doing his best to keep the level of anxiety in the room to a minimum. Matthew had said nothing for quite some time; he was too busy trying to comfort the baby and doe-eyed Latvian.

Funnily enough, when Eduard had sought out an item within the bedroom that he could use just in case they were actually confronted, he found nothing. No cleaning implements, nothing of little value that he could use that could be easily replaced if it broke and most certainly no kind of artillery or weaponry…

However, an empty vodka bottle that was sitting on the ensuite bathroom shelf would do quite nicely. Eduard held it possessively like a batter on a baseball team, shoulders boxed and head low. At first sign of a threat he would spring forward and take a swing – aim for the head or the groin, whichever he saw first. As long as he managed to put the intruder in a concussion or state of shock, it was okay.

A dark shadow passed beneath the door, blocking out the light from the landing. The three spectators within the room stiffened, each stifling a small whimper. The shadow faltered for a moment before finally moving on down the hallway. Each nation let out a soft sigh of relief.

* * *

Berwald had considered going into every room in order to locate the captive. The closed door of the master bedroom had briefly sparked his interest causing him to hover for a split moment before realising it wasn't the same room he'd found Canada in before.

So abandoning the room for now, he shortened the distance between himself and the Baltic's bedroom to continue his quest.

* * *

Benjamin began to resent the restriction his Papa had on him. The baby bunched up his little fists into tight balls, whining out in protest.

"Hush, Ben!" Matthew whispered. The baby's thrashing became more violent; more opposing. Louder cries sounded from his throat, voicing his protest.

* * *

"N'thin'…." The Swede concluded heavily. The Baltic's bedroom was empty. Not even a shred of evidence of Canada existed here. Nothing. Not even a diaper or another badly made sock toy.

Then, he heard cries. Berwald backtracked up the landing towards the first door. This time he didn't hesitate to grab the doorknob and twist it. Then, he gave it a strong push. He tried again. And again. With each attempt he became slightly more frustrated thus he started rattling the door on its hinges. From inside the locked room he heard a soft infantile cry that was easily distinguished over the ebbing silence of the house.

* * *

_**Thank God the door's locked…**_ Matthew thought. He was doing all he could to contain Benjamin but as feared the child had given them away. They were cornered like rats. Rats that were expecting the worse. Rats that would be glad when it was all over.

The intruder was once again present as indicated by the shadow that hovered beneath the door. However, no sign of trying to enter.

That is, until they heard the pounding of something hard on the door knob. All three nations seized up; was this intruder trying to break the lock?!

Estonia clenched his weapon, the pressure of his palms threatening the glass. But from where Canada was sitting Estonia was making no attempt to defend them from the incoming intrusion.

Turning to the teary-eyed Latvian with ferocity in his own, he plopped Benjamin into his arms and spoke in a razor whisper through gritted teeth, violet eyes ablaze.

"Hold onto him, and damn it, protect him with your life!" He knew a mother bear would kill to defend her cubs. He supposed that it was his turn now to do the same thing. Like a good Papa.

"Give me that!" Snatching the vodka bottle and sliding past the elder Baltic towards the door, Matthew held it above his head, readying a swing. He was so intent on striking back the intruder with everything he had that he barely noticed his knees shaking. Yet, he somehow felt more hot and angry than scared or anxious.

The door lock finally gave out, allowing the door to swing open. Matthew pounced. Eduard froze. And Raivis yelped at what happened next.

Berwald hadn't expected the very same person he was here to help to appear wielding a large blunt object like a homicidal maniac. It was a simple reflex that had caused him to swing his baton in retaliation before he himself was wounded by the bottle's impact - it was a well-placed fact that both of the North American brothers bore incredible strength.

Matthew barely squeaked as he was struck over the back of the head and sent backwards into the bed.

**"M-Matthew…! Are you alright?!"**

He would've jumped over if the intruder hadn't first.

"'m s'rry. Didn't expect t' ya t' do th't. Ya alr'ght?"

"S-sweden?!"

"…Ja…?" Estonia's eyes widened.

"W-what are you doing back here?! I-if Russia finds out, he'll kill you, yes, do you understand?!"

"…Ja…"

"T-then why are you here?! You gave us all heart attacks!"

"'m takin' Canada."

"Oh… wow… ah… "

At that moment, baby Benjamin balled his little fists and began to flail in Latvia's arms. His voice broke out into a series of long, high whines, the likes of which threatened to erupt into something more.

"…Where… wha-?" A disorientated Matthew rolled his head to the side, the cries of his child making him stir. Through the gloom of the spacious room he could make out a blurred figure whom was no more than a shadow at this time to the downfallen Canadian. He was unaware that three pairs of eyes were focused on him and him alone.

Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he slowly began to lean forward. Somewhere in the room, Benjamin's cries became more than what Raivis was capable of containing. Matthew moved too quickly to selflessly reach his son. This backfired, of course, a side effect of his newest wound causing him to feel rather nauseated very quickly.

Lightly patting where the heavy baton had struck, he was quick to discover a hot feeling that was seeping down his scalp and finally down his neck. A sharp hammering pain throbbed the spot.

"… Ya alr'ght? 'm s'rry 'bout th't."

Matthew looked up. His sweet violet gaze locked firmly with brutal ice-blue eyes… yet, Matthew failed to externally react. An uneasy feeling grew within Matt's stomach though – he wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so sick but assumed it was brought on by the discomforting feeling he'd be experiencing all day. His lip quivered as he stared back at the kneeling Swede, one hand clutching at his stomach.

The hot unpleasant feeling welled up within the pit of his belly, rising… rising… rising…

Then, he doubled over with his mouth gaping, followed by an unpleasant _"hrrwaawww"_. Berwald tried to shuffle backwards as Matthew emptied his stomach contents onto the rug. A juicy yellow slime coated the half-digested lunch-pancake chunks, some of which dribbled down his chin.

Berwald waited for a minute. Then, he pushed himself to his feet and approached Matthew, gently taking him by the shoulder, lowering himself to meet him at eye-level.

"…Ya alr'ght?" He repeated for the third time. His brow was lowered in concern for the younger nation.

With his head still bowed, Matt nodded slowly, trembling.

"…C'n ya st'nd?" Berwald asked, gently taking him by the shoulders whilst urging him to try and get up. Dazed and apparently disorientated, Matthew struggled up. Even from this angle Berwald could see the blotted band of red that stained a small patch on the collar of his blazer.

Curiously, Berwald pulled back the collar of his shirt and blazer to examine his shoulders. He caught a glimpse of some gauze beneath the clothing. Without asking permission, the Swede began to thoroughly examine his head for older injuries, as well as the rest of his body. Sure enough he discovered bruising and scabs, dressings and band-aids as well as the fresh blood from being struck just minutes ago.

The Swede's face remained otherwise emotionless but really, within, he was boiling with a newfound rage. His eyes held compassion for the Canadian, trying to keep his gaze for as long as possible but without realising that the intense stare was getting to be a bit… much.

* * *

"Sweden…?" Estonia squeaked. The Swede had not wanted to waste any more time in the bedroom. Right now he was striding down the staircase, holding Canada bridal style. Estonia and Latvia pursued, the latter trying to comfort Benjamin desperately.

"…Mm….?"

"Y-you're not honestly taking him, are you?!"

"…Ja… takin' h'm h'me. Needs t' see a doct'r. M'ght need med'cal 'ttention."

Canada was barely conscious at the time. He didn't fight the Nordic. Actually he found comfort in the tall nation; he seemed to know something about handling others with care. He probably got the experience living with rambunctious little Peter and his wifey Tino.

Sweden reached the door. He let Canada down, making sure the dizzy boy was capable of staying on his own two feet before making a lunge for the coat peg. He seized a rather warm looking parka and pulled it over Matt's body, pulling the zipper up to his chin.

"…Where's th' baby?" The Swede asked. Shuddering, Latvia stepped forward. Benjamin was still whinging and whining, struggling to escape his hold.

Sweden fulfilled the child's wishes, taking him in his own. At one quick glance he realised that the child's simple attire of a long-sleeve shirt and fabric shorts over his diaper would not be enough to keep him warm in the outside world.

Even if Estonia had told Canada to escape as soon as he could, he was beginning to feel as though it probably wasn't a good idea. He was already on mister Russia's bad side because he allowed him to believe he tipped off Sweden.

Eduard bit his lip, watching mutely as Sweden removed another coat from the pegs and bound Benjamin in its cocoon warmth.

"S-Sweden, wait…!"

"…Mm?"

"Y-you can't take Canada…!"

"…need t' tell h's family th't he's alr'ght."

"Y-you mean you haven't told anyone?"

"…Ja. Don't want t' panic anyone. Don't want t' put Canada at r'sk."

The Swede ushered Matthew towards the door, taking note of the wound to the back of his head, Benjamin in-arm. Matthew said nothing; he was too dizzy to question what was happening right now, so like a puppet he simply allowed himself to be manoeuvred.

"Wait, Sweden! W-what do you think everyone is going to say when they see Canada is 'back' from the dead?! They'll start asking questions and then… and then…!"

"…Russia w'll get in trouble," Sweden broke in. "...S'not fair th't he's kept like th's. I'll tell Tino ya said hi. _Ha det så bra_."


	22. Goodbye, Ivan

**Chapter 21:**** Goodbye, Ivan**

There's not many chapters left to go! At most, there's three or four more to go, all of which will probably be +2,000 words each... or at least one will be that way.

**Date:**** 31st January, 2013**

* * *

Matthew was dragged by the wrist behind Berwald, whom, after unintentionally intimidating Eduard into unlocking the front with a spare key, lead him down from the house and down the gravelled drive towards the treeline. An extremely irritable Benjamin continued to protest against Berwald with sleepy movements. His pale features dusted with a deep scarlet. The fever was only getting worse.

Matthew at first was beginning to feel the almost painful urge to sleep. How he just wanted to curl up on Ivan's warm bed with his sore head resting against the plump duck feather pillows. Then later he could take a hot bath or shower. Of course, that would all be taken away from him when the Russian tyrant returned. He'd be put straight back to work.

The sudden cold startled Matthew, shocking him into waking up. His hooded eyes were wide and wary, staring around. The wind stung his warm flesh, taking and blowing strands of his long flaxen locks across his face which partially obscured his vision. Berwald faltered suddenly, almost stumbling down into the gritty snow. Berwald whipped around, squeezing Benjamin to reassure himself that the tiny infant wouldn't slip from his arms. Matthew was standing there was his head drooped, heels dug in. Every few seconds for a few seconds his body convulsed with a series of very noticeable shivers.

"Somethin' wrong, Canada?" Matthew stared quietly ahead at the tall man for a moment, apparently thinking of what to say. Berwald bounced impatiently, glancing over his shoulder expecting to see Russia's car pull up any moment now.

Matthew glanced down at his feet. His shoeless feet that were numbing fast from the thickly frosted gravel underfoot. He was planted firm, anchored stiffly to the spot.

"C-c-cold…" He murred. The ice was beginning to soak through his woollen socks making them all damp and his toes chilly. Sweden craned his neck to get a better look at Canada's features. With his eyelids drooped and shadowed, he looked absolutely shattered.

"…A-and sleepy…"

It had been an automatic decision for Berwald. He worried that Matthew wouldn't have been able to catch up and then they would've lingered, risking exposure to Ivan if he arrived early.

So, he shuffled the nation and baby until he held a restless Benjamin in one arm and used the other to vainly support Matthew whom was draped over his back. It was an awkward manoeuvre but it meant he would have to walk upright instead of crawling behind the bushes down the lane towards the gates.

Soon, Benjamin was snuggling against the coat he had been wrapped in and with it came the end of his bawling. The burdened Swede took no notice of the silence that had befallen the trio – he was focused purely on the last part of his mission, determined to get it over with.

So far, so good, it had gone off without a hitch. They eventually reached the tall iron gate that guarded the property from the outside world. Matthew's grip had loosened around Berwald's shoulder, becoming much less clingy. His eyes had fallen shut, unable to fight the beckoning call of sleep and when Berwald turned his head to meet the one that was resting peacefully in the crook of his neck; he could indeed see the young nation was fast asleep. It did worry him to some extent that he might be at risk if he slept for too long with that possible concussion but if he recalled correctly, Matthew would be alright for an hour or two at least. He looked as though he could do with the rest anyways.

The sharp-eyed Swede popped his head around the gate, scanning the quiet country lanes with his ears pricked for any sign of Russia's sleek retro automobile. The black beast of a car with its silver hood ornament would stick out a mile around compared to the modern vehicles that were being driven around Moscow nowadays. The old sputtering engine would give it away before he could see it, no problem. But his only problem was that the lanes were narrow and surrounded by tall hedges and rooted trees; he'd have nowhere to hide if the car came speeding out of the blue. And then he'd be caught.

Berwald's grip on his rescuees tightened ever-so-slightly, casting another glance down the roads. All was clear with nor sight or sound of the dreadful Ivan's homecoming.

Cautiously, very, very cautiously, he began walking at a quick pace down towards the side lane in which he'd left his own car, silently praying that no car would pass. Any other Russian – whether they be good Samaritans whom see the three as those who may need help or be nosy suspicious crones who want to know why an oddly dressed man is carrying a shoeless bandaged man and a baby – would probably turn out to be an awkward situation for him. Surely they'd only speak Russian and that would most certainly put the Swedish-English speaking Berwald in a tight spot to explain himself to the onlookers.

Minutes passed. A single red car passed without stopping or slowing; infact, from what Berwald had seen, it didn't seem as though the driver had even noticed them.

Soon enough they reached his stationed car. It was parked about two hundred yards from the main lane which lead directly to the mansion gates. It was a dire struggle of juggling Matthew and Benjamin before Berwald managed to pull his keys from his coat pocket to unlock the door. There was no baby seat for the child, so he concluded that he'd sit him on his lap. He safely strapped Matthew in the back, using a travel pillow he kept in the trunk for Peter to rest his battered cranium on. Then, he got in himself with the now-napping Benjamin bundled comfortably upon his lap.

Just as he was about to turn the engine on, Berwald glanced up. A black automobile passed along the road ahead, travelling at an easy and non-urgent pace. He waited for a minute, give or take, then pulled the car out of it's space and was off in the opposite direction in which Ivan's car had come...

* * *

"The mall was busy today, wasn't it, sir?" Lithuania spoke with more confidence than usual. His outing with Russia had proved to be a rather jolly one, and simply by looking at his master he could indeed see that Ivan's mood was pleasant. As Toris drove, Ivan was pulling bits and pieces out of one of the bags that were filled with some purchased goods. Some very special goods, Ivan thought.

And despite Moscow being busy, they'd managed to get their shopping done early and so were returning sooner.

"Da. But we got what we wanted so there's no problem." He proudly examined a pastel blue polo shirt and beige cotton shorts – many, many sizes too small for himself. Of course, they were baby clothes and along with them, they'd bought several other shirts each a different colour, and two spare pairs of shorts. There was also a single doll-sized jacket and many pairs of teeny-tiny socks intended for teeny-tiny feet.

"I'm sure Canada will be pleased; now that little Benjamin has some proper clothes to wear."

"I hope they've finished the housework. It'd be disappointing if we came back to a filthy house, da?"

"Y-yes sir… but we haven't been out for as long as we originally planned, so maybe you shouldn't be so expectant of their efforts…"

"Mm… maybe. If they aren't done, then you'll all work extra hard tomorrow. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

Toris could only suppress a little groan.

Ivan happily stuffed the baby clothes back into the bag, immediately seizing another that was by his feet. Grinning, he pulled out a rather smart woollen sweater, cheery red colour. He had bought it, intending to give it to his Matvey as a present. Apart from his uniform and the clothes he'd arrived in, Matthew had no other daytime clothes. He thought that during the evenings a warm garment to wear around the house would be perfect, and red he was certain was the most suiting colour. So warm; he hugged the garment close.

Both of them were unaware that they'd only be greeted by two individuals when they arrived.

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere on the freeway Berwald Oxenstierna, Matthew Williams and Benjamin Beilschmidt-Williams were on their way to Stockholm. Only a few hours to go.


	23. Safe At Last

**Chapter 22:**** Safe at Last**

**Date:**** 31st January, 2013**

* * *

Night had fallen by the time the little car pulled up in the drive of the quaint cottage outside of Stockholm. Approximately eight o'clock at night to be a bit more specific. The journey had been a very long one.

Berwald had stopped six times during the return trip, being sure to thoroughly wake Matthew to reassure his wellbeing, ensuring he drank some of the water he'd bought at a gas station a while back.

At his last stop, when he was approximately an hour away from home, he'd rung the Swedish Nation doctor requesting that he come out tonight to give both Canada and the baby a check-up.

It came to Berwald's relief when he spotted the doc's car parked on the property. He was just looking forward to putting Matthew and Benjamin to bed in the guest room whilst he put his feet up for a bit. He was actually very much looking forward to a half-glass of whiskey with his wife to celebrate.

As soon as he got out of the car the green door of the cottage opened up and a little boy dressed in his blue plaid flannel pyjamas came running out. He threw himself at the Swede as soon as he reached him, sniffling loudly. He looked up at Papa Swede's face, clearly upset about something.

"Papa! Papa!" Peter's eyes were red and puffy, with a distinctive watery shine to them. The first question the Swede asked himself was whether or not his son had been crying.

"Wh't's wr'ng l'ttle one?" The micro-nation rubbed the snot from his nose.

"M-mama got really sick suddenly… a-and he couldn't eat… and he kept throwing up… Papa, I thought mama was going to die…!"

Sweden sighed softly. It sounded as though his poor wifey wasn't getting any better. In fact, it sounded as though he'd taken a slight turn for the worse. His economy was certainly hitting the wall at the moment, the undeniable cause for Fin's feverishness.

"D'n't w'rry, Peter. Mama's j'st a l'ttle sick." Berwald brushed a thumb over Peter's dampened cheek. "Has th' doct'r done anythin' y't?" Little Peter nodded slowly, hugging his Papa tightly.

"H-he just said Mama needs to stay in bed… he's with Mama in the bedroom now."

"'Kay. Have ya had supper yet?"

"Yes." Berwald ruffled the boy's dark blonde hair.

"'Kay. B' a good boy; brush ya teeth an' go t' bed." When he went to nudge Peter back towards the house he found that the little boy was distracted.

"Papa? Who's that in the car?"

"D'n't worry 'bout it. Ya c'n see them in the mornin'."

"But Papa…"

"No buts. Say 'Good Night' t' Mama an' then bed."

As soon as Sealand did as he was told and was back inside the house, Sweden turned back to tend to Canada and Benjamin. He'd first take Matthew inside to the guest room where he could get the doctor to inspect every inch of his body for any wounds he hadn't seen himself, and also to check if there would be any lasting damage. He couldn't imagine what the doctor would think; along with many of the nations, each doctor whom was trained to attend to the classified country representatives had heard about the apparent death. It would probably be a bit of a shock to the system seeing a nation 'back' from the dead, however Berwald wasn't concerned; the Swedish Nation doctor was a rather bright and kind man in his mid-fifties but whom was seldom excitable. To date, he was one of the oldest licensed doctors whom was trained to deal with Nations and very much experienced.

Scooping Matthew into his arms, Berwald carried him into the cottage. Without even shutting the front door or so much as greeting Hanatamago when she yipped up at him, Matthew was taken upstairs. The staircase creaked under the doubled mass of both nations. Berwald was very much surprised by the boy's weight even though it was obvious that he'd lost a bit of weight and muscle; it just went to show how great the landmass of Canada truly was.

By the time they slipped into the guest room Peter had finished brushing his teeth and was inside his own bedroom. The door to his parent's bedroom eased open and the Swedish doctor stepped out. His sullen green eyes immediately trailed up just in time to see Berwald disappear behind the door. Curiously he walked on over, following into the room.

The guest room was rather small; it only contained a single plain bed, a pine dresser draw with a small lamp and a small matching wardrobe. The curtains, carpet and walls were all rather drab and plain, but nonetheless cosy.

The room was illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the curtains drawn. Berwald was tenderly tending to the barely-conscious Matthew, pulling the bed covers up to his chin. The doctor was absolutely silent at first. It was enough so that he could hear Berwald mumbling something incoherently to the one he'd salvaged.

_"Mister Sweden."_

Berwald suddenly turned.

_"Doctor Ankarsvärd. It's good that you came. I'm sorry for calling at such an inconvenient time-"_

_"Finland is fine, Sweden,"_ The doctor replied brightly, strolling closer, his bag of instruments in hand. _"Now, anyways. I'm afraid it wasn't just his economy that was causing his weakness, but it seems he had a minor internal infection as well. That alone had been straining his welbeing to the very brink, so I'm actually quite glad you called me out."_

_"But he's defiantly alright now?"_

_"Just let him rest. I've given him a shot of antibiotics and left a bottle of fever medication that should be administered thrice daily; once after breakfast, once after lunch and the last just before bed."_

The older-looking man gazed at Matthew who warily regarded back with glazed eyes that drooped from fatigue. He was obviously interested in the conversation although unable to decipher what was being said.

_"Thank you… I hadn't realised he was so sick. Tino was so adamant that he was fine… I wanted him to get checked up…"_

_"Finland was not the reason you called me though, was he?"_ Berwald held his breath, shaking his head.

_"Mm,"_ He stepped aside, now very much aware that Benjamin was still out in the car. Luckily it was warm inside the vehicle, particularly seeing as he was still bundled in the coat. But he was nervous about leaving the infant unattended. _"This is Canada. I'm anxious that he might have a concussion, some other potential injuries too."_

The doctor arched an eyebrow. He noticed that Berwald was being extremly talkative. It was for the best though if every detail he spared could be put towards Matthew's wellbeing.

_"Canada? Matthew Williams?"_

_"I'd appreciate it. It'll put my mind at ease. I'll be back in just a minute. There's someone else waiting in the car, and I need you to look at him too."_

_"Fair enough. I'll give him the examination"_

As word was kept, doctor Ankarsvärd examined Matthew thoroughly, checking every square inch of his body. It was only a matter of time before he discovered the numerous bruises and wounds beneath layers of bandages and gauze. He also had Matthew's pulse checked, examined his eyes and took a blood sample – just in case. By the time he was half-way through Berwald returned with Benjamin.

_"So, who is this child?"_ Ankarsvärd asked, taking Benjamin. He was perched on the edge of the bed, finished with applying fresh bandages around Matthew's head. Matthew immediately leaned forward in the bed, a small look of distress upon his face. His wide violet eyes ignored Berwald and for that matter Ankarsvärd as well, and locked onto Benjamin. A soft whimper escaped his lips.

_"His baby. I think."_

Fearing he'd only hurt himself Berwald approached with the child safely cradled in his big arms. The baby was still fast asleep compared to his now fully aware father; even with the injuries and soreness that covered the upper part of his body, he wanted his baby. He wanted him now.

Berwald did Matthew a favour and handed the child over. As soon as he did Matthew huddled back into the headboard and buried his nose against the top of Benjamin's head, rubbing his cheek against the silvery wisps of hair. Benjamin's amethyst eyes flicked open accompanied by a series of protesting moans triggered by the disturbance of his nap.

Because he had been stripped in order for the doc to get a closer, clean look at the injuries, Matthew's chest was in the bare with his shoulders patched up with dressings. Benjamin rolled his head against the side of Matthew's chest, burbling softly. Matthew's heartbeat, strong and steady pulsated rhythmically under Benjamin's cheek.

Lovingly, the exhausted Matthew smoothed a hand over the child's forehead only to feel the feverish heat rise from his skin, his eyelashes fluttering when another wave of nausea took him by surprise, making him fall against his pillows.

The Swedish nation couldn't help but let the most subtle of smiles appeared upon his broad and handsome features. It warmed the nation's heart to see such affection but it also killed him to know that they'd have to be disturbed in order to have the child looked over. Something told Sweden that the placid Canadian wouldn't hesitate to fight back; especially after all he'd been through. And he didn't blame him. He was only doing what he himself would do if his little Peter or sweetheart Tino had been through the same. Berwald wanted to put his family first and there was no doubt in his mind that it was the same for the timid Matthew.

Ankarsvärd suddenly cleared his throat. For once, he began speaking in English for Matthew, his voice thick with accent yet understandable. Melodic, even.

"Canada, would it be alright if I see ya baby?" Immediately his response was a negative shake of the head. Ankarsvärd didn't break his eye contact. He needed to see the child. He scooted closer.

"I'm not goin' t' hurt him. I need t' see if he's alright. Please?" The way Matthew was holding Benjamin in such a protective manner was only driving his curiosity, almost as though the tiny infant was harboring a God-awful injury that couldn't be shown. From where he sat, Benjamin's cheeks did look a little too rosy with colour.

It took a minute of gentle persuasion before Matthew reluctantly allowed Ankarsvärd to handle his child. Satisfied that he was in good hands, Berwald left them be. He had his own little boy to see to, who needed tucking in to bed. And when that was done Berwald popped into his bedroom to visit his sickly Tino, to whom was fast asleep on his side of the bed with a damp wrung cloth draped over his forehead. His breaths were shallow but his face wasn't nearly a flushed as it had been the night before.

Nuzzling a shy kiss atop of his head, Berwald settled beside him on the bed. He resisted the urge to pull him into a hug with the fear of waking him from the much needed rest; it was the first time Berwald had seen him sleep so peacefully for almost a fortnight, and it still guilted him for leaving him alone last night. But, as God was his witness, he would make things up for his wife. And right now he'd do the favour of letting him sleep.

It seemed to be only a few minutes of alone time with his Tino before doctor Ankarsvärd was at the door. He had his surgical bag in-hand and his coat over one arm. Once he noticed Berwald joined him out in the hallway.

_"Mm?"_

_"The boy has a mild cold. Otherwise, he's completely healthy."_

_"And Canada?"_

_"Canada… he is suffering from a bit of a concussion, I'm afraid. But he seems reasonably well rested… although a bit disorientated and perhaps slightly anxious."_ Berwald nodded with a grunt.

_"I am worried about the bruises and welts all over his body. My guess is that he's been beaten a fair few times for whatever reason; he won't tell me what. With a solid object as well judging by the impact and discolouration of his skin. I've disinfected and treated the open sores with some simple antibacterial gel just to be on the safe side; it wouldn't do anyone any good if they were to become infected."_

_"Thank you. I'll call his family in the morning and let them know. I think Prussia will be happy."_


	24. C'est Moi, Papa

**Chapter 23: ****C'est Moi, Papa**

**Date:**** 1st February, 2013**

* * *

Tino eased open his eyes, groaning a little when the bright morning light poured forth from the bedroom window and flooded into his line of vision. He pushed a forearm across his brow trying to block out the disturbance. Berwald, noticing he had awakened, bowed his head to nuzzle the Fin's silky blonde hair, looping an arm over his side, moving his nose away to rest in the crook of Tino's neck. Tino, who had his back to Berwald, wriggled in his arms to get comfortable.

"Sve…?"

"Mm. Mornin'. How ya feelin'?"

"My head… it still hurts… and I feel all warm and sticky."

"Doct'r came last n'ght. Gave ya a shot. Said ya had a l'ttle inf'ction… g't s'me med'cine too." He slipped one big hand beneath Tino's night shirt and began to rub his belly in a way he knew his wife found most comforting whilst the other rested against his cheek. Indeed he was still feeling a little warm, his sweat making his skin a little damp.

"Hey… Sve…?"

"Mm?"

"You lied."

"Hm?"

"Y-you said you'd be back by noon to make lunch… I-I didn't see you once yesterday… you lied." For a moment, Berwald said nothing. He silently hoped he hadn't upset his wife with a broken promise. It was simply a miscalculation.

"'m s'rry. I w's busy. But 'm h'me now."

"What were you doing? What made you stay away for so long?"

"I'll tell ya later. Won't have much of a choice." Berwald breathed warm air into the back of his neck, tickling the fine blonde hairs and making him giggle softly. Ah, who was he kidding? There was no way in hell he could ever be mad at his husband for too long.

A sudden shrill yipping made both nations jump. Down by Finland's side of the bed a little white puppy named Hanatamago jumped up, although her efforts were cut short. She wasn't quite big enough to get onto the bed by herself.

"I'll c'rry ya downstairs an' we c'n have breakf'st," He fell silent for a moment when he heard voices downstairs, voices coming from the television set in the front room. "Peter's up."

* * *

The Nordic couple descended the stairs of their cottage down onto the ground floor, Tino being carried in the big strong arms of his loving husband.

What they expected was to see was their son perched upon the sofa in his pyjamas with his plush toy seagull in his arms, eyes glued to the television set whilst it produced a variety of colourful slapstick cartoons and sounds.

They assumed correctly, however, Peter was not alone. There was a large lump wrapped in a plum-purple blanket curled up beside him. Every now and again, a small babyish gurgle came from its depths. A head covered in wavy blonde hair was visible above the blanket, one that stared directly at the TV screen at the Tom and Jerry cartoon that was playing. When Berwald let his wife down, he grunted lowly in the doorway to make their presence known. Almost immediately they got their reaction.

"Mama! Papa!" Said the little boy, jumping up. Stuffed seagull in-arm, Peter ran over to his parents with a big smile plastered over his face. Berwald caught his son under his armpits with a grunt and hoisted him up into his arms in a playful morning hug. He squeezed the giggling child fondly before setting his squirming self back down before he managed to hurt himself – then there would be tears.

The boy bounced on the balls of his feet, hugging the toy seagull tightly. He turned towards the couch, where Matthew was sitting. He watched quietly with an unreadable expression upon his pale bandaged features; Berwald was uncertain of how he was feeling from this distance.

Throughout the night, once every three hours, Berwald had gotten up to wake Matthew. With a diagnosed concussion one couldn't be too sure. He'd also changed Benjamin using a clean scrap square piece of cloth he'd found in the airing cupboard as a fresh diaper. It was a relief to see that Matthew was awake and seemingly well.

If Canada was here… and all that Sve and Denmark had said about seeing him at Russia's home…

"Berwald… you didn't…?" The Fin whispered, clutching his husband's arm.

"Had t'," Berwald replied in a low mutter, grazing the top of Tino's head in a nuzzle. "Rest on th' couch with Peter an' Canada. I'll m'ke breakf'st."

"Can we have some Pannukakku with jam?" Berwald kissed his nose.

"'Course. D' ya th'nk ya be able t' keep it down?"

The conversation the couple shared intrigued Matthew. From beneath the blanket squirmed Benjamin, whom was beginning to feel hungry himself. He began pulling at Matthew's nightshirt with his face pulled into a disgruntled frown, his wails beginning to escalate into something his Papa simply couldn't ignore.

Matthew turned so that his back was to the others. He pulled the purple blanket further over his shoulders until every part of him from the neck-down was covered including Benjamin. Then, he pulled at the buttons of the nightshirt he was wearing – he hadn't yet processed the thought of when he'd changed clothes since arriving – and pushed the feverish child closer. Almost immediately the child's whimpers were replaced with greedy little grunts as he suckled.

Whilst Matthew pampered to his baby Tino strolled on over and sat himself next to the younger nation. Matthew pretended not to notice him or Peter whom joined them.

For a few minutes there was nothing but silence. Out in the kitchen they could hear the clattering of pots and dishes as Berwald prepared breakfast, as well as the audio from the television.

"He's a really cute baby, Canada. You must be proud, huh?" Tino reached forward to stroke Benjamin's wispy hair, only to have his fingers sharply smacked away. But there was still no reply.

"It's okay. You're still a little shaken up, huh? Shall we talk about it?" Matthew shook his head.

"Ah… okay. But you can trust Finny, you know? If there's something you want to talk about, just let me know, okay?" Matthew nodded.

Tino shyly hugged Matthew before getting up; he still wasn't feeling well, and with a wave of nausea was beginning to wash over his senses. He wanted to get to the bathroom quickly...

A little tear slipped from Matt's eye. He did nothing to stop it from slipping down his cheeks and land in Benjamin's silvery locks.

The only people he wanted to talk to right now were his family. He wanted Gil.

* * *

Breakfast was finally dished up. As promised, there was Pannukakku with strawberry jam, a box of muesli cereal with pots of fruit yogurt, and even a plate of cold sliced ham and cheese.

Matthew was still wrapped in the blanket with Benjamin hidden in his arms. He was adamant to let his offspring go even when he was offered a bowl of the cereal.

He did not eat a thing and said even less throughout breakfast. His stomach called him to eat but he didn't care to listen. To him this was unbelievable; one minute he was a mortal possession of Ivan's being kept under lock and key, then the next thing he knew he was being cared for by the Nordic family. It was nice… but it made him feel something horribly vague.

* * *

Afterwards, when Tino went to take a nap upstairs in the bedroom and Peter to take his daily bath now that the water had warmed, Berwald managed to sit down and convince Matthew to take a few bites of his cereal to keep his energy up. It was for the best, he said. And if he didn't eat then soon enough Benjamin wouldn't be able to either.

There was a little gazebo out in the garden. It was positioned to the side of an old apple tree, giving it plenty of shelter. And hanging from one of the tree's branches was a simple swing that the hard-working Sweden had built for Sealand.

On this swing was where Matthew was sitting. He held Benjamin in his lap with the blanket wrapped around his body whilst he gently swung back and forth on the rope swing. The ground was covered in a thin frosting of ice – not snow – but that hadn't deterred Matthew from being bare-footed. The feeling of having the cold on his feet was so wonderful. He loved the snow and ice, the usually hated season of winter. At his home, it was welcomed. Plus, his baby had been born in the cold months. Another reason to love it so.

Canada had been given new clothes to wear by the Swede; a pair of light drawstring pyjama pants to wear underneath the button-up night shirt, plus an old cardigan that belonged to Finland. Sadly though nothing could really be done about his absence of glasses; Sweden had nothing spare that could cater to his short-sighted needs. But for now that didn't matter.

Sweden watched afar from the kitchen window as he routinely tidied the kitchen. Canada had been sitting out in the cold for nearly half an hour but he seemed completely unaffected by the chilly atmosphere. The boy seemed so distant. It was almost disturbing the way he just sat and stared off into space… kind of like he was now.

As soon as he was done with cleaning the draining board Berwald slipped on a coat and trudged out across the garden towards Matthew. Up close he could see the boy and baby were shivering. Without uttering a word he scooped them up in his arms and carried them back indoors into the living room.

Peter was already downstairs dressed and bathed. He was sat in the living room with the laptop on his lap, TV blaring in the background. The boy didn't notice as the morning cartoon line-up for the day had changed to a series of cooking shows, for his eyes were glued to the second screen of cyber space before him.

He barely noticed when Matthew and Benjamin were sat next to him, wrapped in a second blanket to warm their toes. A few logs were thrown into the fire before Berwald ascended the stairs to tend to Tino; it was about time his medicine was administered.

* * *

The rest of the morning went well. Matthew was gradually warming up to his temporary family, finding the breath to talk at around mid-morning. It wasn't a surprise that he was still a little intimidated by Berwald but he conversed quite fluently with the wife and son of the household.

When they had lunch past one in the afternoon, they were interrupted.

_Knock knock knock._

When Berwald got up to answer the door, Matthew passively continued his broken conversation with Tino. He refused to answer any questions or so much as talk about his time at Russia's despite Tino subtle attempts to get him to talk a bit more, to try and peel out some of the truth to what had happened. But it was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock.

"I hope Estonia is alright. That Russia… he's kind of a really scary guy sometimes." Said Tino, biting into his sandwich. Since the morning he was looking and feeling much better.

Matthew poked at his own lunch, peeling off the crusts and pulling out strips of ham to nibble on. He wasn't feeling very hungry. He was paying more attention to the sleeping baby in his arms, whom looked like a little angel who knew nothing about true fear and pain. God, he was lucky. There was a time when he was so carefree and happy... actually, he would've of been about the same age as Benjamin now. So long ago.

Berwald was standing in the doorway. Several others were right behind him.

"_Cher_?"

The Canadian froze. He just sat there, hunched protectively over his baby with his back to his audience. He squared his shoulders beneath the blanket that was draped over him, bowing his head closer towards the dome of Benjamin's head. Right now he wasn't quite sure how to react.

_"C'est que vous, petit?"_ Someone called. The same person slowly parted himself from his companions, approaching slowly and quietly from the side. Matthew could see him from the corner of his eye now; the vivid blue coat and matching capelet, the bright red pants and boots… and the unmistakable glint of two sapphire eyes. A glint that Matthew knew was usually full of cheek and playful lust… but not now. It was an empty glint. Nothing.

Large hands smoothed over the boy's shoulders, trailing down his arms. Francis turned Matthew on his seat, trying to catch his gaze. He was quickly joined by the nations who'd arrived at the house with him. Arthur was standing, staring with disbelief. Alfred's mind couldn't process what he was seeing.

_"Mathieu… C'est que vous…? S'il vous plaît… S'il vous plaît parlez-moi."_ Matthew squirmed in his Papa's grasp. Benjamin was still sleeping soundly beneath the blanket, completely out of sight from his family, primarily his grandfather.

_"Oui Papa… c'est moi."_ And that was enough to earn a tight embrace. Several warm tears rolled down Francis' cheek dropping into Matt's hair.

"Bloody hell." Arthur finally uttered after breaking the breath he'd been holding. Alfred began rubbing the back of his neck. There was no way that this was his little brother, was it? Arthur… Arthur had told him that Mattie was dead!

It seemed like a lifetime of holding his ex-charge before Francis felt a disturbance accompanied by a soft cry of protest. And as soon as he heard it, Matthew began to struggle out of the Frenchman's hold.

Francis fell back. Fresh tears were still flowing from his eyes; the last time Arthur recalled seeing him cry so freely was when he'd taken the boy when he was just a toddler colony. But over two hundred years on it was a rare spectacle all the same to witness.

Matthew shrank away from his family, shivering. Matthew buried his head into the blanket, tending to the source of the noises and movements that were his baby. Alfred cocked his head curiously. Now what was happening?

"Hey… dude…? Bro...?" He reached over and yanked off the blanket with one swift jerk. His eyes darted from his brother whom had hidden his face. Instead, his gaze locked with a pair of innocent amethyst orbs that glimmered. Benjamin peered up at Alfred for a moment. This new man was unfamiliar... yet he looked like his Papa. Alot like his Papa. The child gurgled with a open-mouth smile, grabbing at the air above him; he'd already learnt that by doing this whilst making cute little grunts someone would pick him up and give him the attention he liked.

Finland, who had been watching the whole time, coaxed Sealand from the kitchen, telling him to play upstairs for a while whilst the grown-ups talked. He was sure to send him off with the remainder of his lunch to avoid complaints or any attempts for a sneaky snack raid before supper that might lead to a spoilt appetite.

"How about we sit down in the living room? We can have some tea and coffee, and then we can explain! Sve?"

Sweden grunted with agreement. He already set out with the task of boiling the kettle whilst raiding the cupboards to locate enough mugs for everyone. There was only one person who wasn't here, however. And when Matthew shyly peered around he realised who.

Where was Gilbert?


	25. The Phonecall

**Chapter 24:**** The Phonecall**

**Date:**** 1st February, 2013**

* * *

In the lounge they all sat with their hot beverages and a plate of pecan biscuits. On the couch the Canadian sat snuggled with his head buried under Francis' arm. America sat on the floor, England next to the other two on the couch.

The Brit held in his arms Benjamin. The baby was curious of these new people and so enjoyed every moment he spent tugging at Arthur's hair and nose and ears at every possible opportunity.

"Sweden called us very late last night… he told us to come as soon as we could." Explained Arthur. Francis added:

"_Oui._ We thought something must of 'appened to _petit_ Peter, or Finland's condition worsened… or something of the sort."

Francis turned to the boy next to him. With delicate movements of his gloved fingers, he pushed the long wavy strands of gold that hung from the young nation's head, brushing back his bangs in order to see his bright little eyes. He took a sip of his coffee and noted how his Mathieu's hair had grown since their last meeting; it'd need cutting back again at some point before it got too unruly.

There was an awkward silence between the elder nations. Total silence would've been accomplished if it weren't for Benjamin who had discovered that eyebrows were as much fun to pull as anything else. He giggled with malicious delight as he yanked with considerable strength.

"W-where's Gilbert…?" Matthew suddenly piped, partially sitting up but still against his Papa's side until his cheek was resting firmly against his shoulder.

"Oh…_ petit_, 'e's still at 'ome."

"A-at home?"

"Ah oui. 'e's… uh… 'as not been very well lately, _cher_."

Francis shot Arthur a worried look. Although it had not been for long, Elizabeta had already let them and several others know about his re-established 'relationship' with Roderich. The little Canadian looked like he'd been dragged through hell and back; they felt as though he shouldn't be allowed to suffer with the knowledge that the father of his child had already moved on, no matter how difficult it had been.

Comfortingly as anyone could, Francis continued to stroke Matt's hair. At all costs he avoided eye contact.

Blissfully unaware Matthew nodded silently against the parental figure. His Papa would never lie to him.

"Okay. But please can we go home to see him soon?"

"Of course. But _mon cher_, perhaps you should rest for a while?"

"That's a good idea. Lad, you've been through the wars-"

"I'm fine! Please…! I-I just want to go home…"

But what home? Canada's home had been put up in the market not two weeks ago. A modern luxury mansion outside the big city that was going cheap was expected to find a new owner soon; and it did. Matthew's old home was now the residence of a retired pensioner who had been seeking a sanctuary to spend the last of his days in. Matthew wouldn't be moving back in anytime soon.

And he was horrified when he was told. He did calm down again when his family reassured him that all of his valued possessions were safe, including Kumajiro and Moose.

"Y-you don't suppose Ludwig will mind if I move in with him and Gil, d'you?" Arthur sprang up, holding the grabby infant from his face. His eyebrows and scalp were beginning to burn where hairs had been plucked, greatly in need of rescuing from the child's fondling hands.

"After you've been missing for so long, luv, we can't shock anyone. Remember, everyone thought you had died-"

"Hey, old man! You're the one who said that he died and for us to give up! So un-hero like!"

"Shut up, idiot!"

"Only pointing out the facts, dude."

"'Only pointing out the facts'? You didn't even help look for him – no, you didn't even notice he was gone! Your own brother for God's sake! If that isn't a fact then I bloody well don't know what is!"

An argument brewed between the two which only made Francis roll his eyes. Out on the upstairs landing the dial phone rang with its monotonous shrill. Sweden excused himself quietly and promptly left to answer it.

_"Mm?"_

_"Mister Sweden? It's doctor Ankarsvärd."_

_"Oh. Hello. Is everything alright?"_

_"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" Berwald hesitated an answer. "Never mind. Yesterday I took a blood sample from Canada just to be on the safe side of things."_

_"There's nothing wrong?"_

_"Well… no diseases or foreign bacterial infections flared up… but I do have some news. I'd like to talk to Canada about it in private, however. I'll leave it up to him to tell you himself."_

Berwald stared into the receiver, puzzling over the doctor's response. It wasn't unusual for a doctor to want to privately discuss results of any test with the patient and nobody else – doctor-patient confidentiality and all – but the way he spoke… he sounded almost worried.

Berwald left the receiver lying on the table the phone sat on and head to find the requested nation back downstairs in the lounge.

Inside Francis was cradling his grandson in one arm whilst comforting the young parent with the other all the while staring daggers at Arthur and Alfred whom were on the floor. Of course he knew the pair loved each other really but they were both just so petty with their arguments. Relieving their 'sexual tensions' as he often called it just to give them an excuse.

Tino just sat, watching in amazement at the rambling with no desire of his own to get himself involved. He was rather relieved that Peter had been sent upstairs – not because he was young and impressionable. Oh God no. He'd seen his brother and Alfred fighting more than enough times. But Tino simply had a feeling that the little boy would try to get involved.

Nobody seemed to notice as Benjamin whimpered under the volume of the room. His little eyes welled up, the points of his face beginning to pinken with a mixture of feverish heat and from the build-up of an incoming tantrum.

Then, the tears accompanied by the wailing commenced.

"Idiot! Look what you've done!"

"Me? Kids love me! You're the bad tempered old jackass with the bad mouth!"

"You _imbéciles_! Acting so childishly around a _bébé_ is simply unforgiveable. 'Ow either of you can declare yourselves mature is beyond _moi_!" Francis knew his only parental experience had been with Matthew unlike a certain Brit, but he was pretty sure of the reason why Arthur fell out with a majority of his ex-charges.

Berwald cleared his throat, directing his gaze over at Matthew. The others all glanced up.

"Canada. Doctor's on th' ph'ne for ya. Needs t' speak t' ya." The sandy-haired Canadian wriggled reluctantly. By choice he didn't want to leave the warm comfy side of his Papa.

"D-do I have to…?"

"Seems import'nt."

"Go on, _mon cher_," Francis cooed gently, slipping the arm he had been using to sooth him to properly coax the bawling infant back into a peaceful slumber. "I 'ave it under control."

* * *

So, Matthew went upstairs to answer the doctor. His heart leapt into his throat with anxiety, praying to God that it was nothing serious – or if anything was wrong for that matter.

"H-hello?"

"Hello, Canada?"

"Y-yes?"

"Tis doctor Ankarsvärd. I saw ya yesterday."

"Oh… yes," Matthew decided to just cut to the chase. "Is there something wrong with me, doctor?"

"Depends on how ya view it. Though considerin' ya condition, I think it's safe t' say it might b' a bit of a problem. I'd like t' ask ya a few questions first, although you may be unable to answer all of them right now." In anticipation, Matthew wrapped his fingers around the phone cord, gnashing down on his bottom lip.

"Go on… please." He replied softly after a moment.

"Alright. Have ya been experiencing any frequent headaches, backaches? Fatigue?"

There was another brief silence as Matthew thought. Tired, yes. But he assumed that was due to the concussion or the fact that he'd barely been able to sleep a wink for the past thirty days with fear that Ivan would do something.

"I-I guess I've been feeling a little bit tired… kind of achy but not really enough to hurt."

"Good, good. I did take ya temperature last night and it seemed a little higher than it should. Not unusual."

"U-unusual for what?"

"Tell me… have ya been feelin' a little nauseous recently? Dizzy or sick perhaps?"

"A little sick, I suppose… I don't understand! What are you getting at!" Matthew was beginning to grow frustrated.

"Please, calm ya self. Now, this is important one: at any point, did ya have unprotected sex anytime within thirty days of givin' birth?"

Yes. Many times, in fact.

"What?! W-why does that matter?!"

"I just want t' make sure the results of ya blood test have any chance of bein' accurate, s'all." Ankarsvärd kept up a calm tone, trying to ease Matthew into giving him the answer straight. Personally he didn't think Matthew was in any condition to be dealing with something so drastic.

"Well… yes! Alright? A _few_ times, but I-"

"It's alright. 'm not judging ya, Canada. Just try to keep ya self calm and I'll tell ya." Obediently Matthew sucked in a fresh lungful of breath and exhaled. He did this again and again before prompting the doc to carry on with a small 'okay'.

On the other end of the line Ankarsvärd stared down at the papers that he clutched in his hands. From it he finally read the results.

"Whether or not I think I should congratulate ya…"

"Yes…?"

"Well… Canada, according t' these results… ya pregnant-"

"W-w-what…?"

"-by about two and a half weeks, give or take a few days."

"I…I…" This… this couldn't be?

"H-how…? M-my doctor t-told me and Gil – back when I was p-pregnant with Benjamin – that a male nation getting pregnant was really rare… I don't understand…?" Almost immediately the doc replied, sounding rather brisk and business like with his wording.

"With my experience, mister Williams, women tend t' b' highly fertile shortly after givin' birth. I s'pose ya chances of conceivin' were increased all the same."

Slowly he began shaking his head.

"No…no, no, no no, no…! T-this can't b-be happening!" Ankarsvärd opened his mouth to speak. The drone of the phone line cut him short as Matthew replaced the receiver.

Slowly, Matthew sank to his knees. He stared hypnotically into the carpet, unaware of a pair of eyes that were staring from behind the bedroom door. From within his bedroom where he'd been playing with his game consoles, Peter had heard Matthew seemingly talking to himself; but the boy knew better.

Now, here he was, watching the older male sobbing with his head in his hands. With his stuffed seagull in-arm Sealand approached.

"Why are you crying? Did you hurt yourself?" Matthew glanced up, turning towards the little wannabe nation. "Maybe I should get Mama and Papa if you're hurt…" Wiping his eyes with a sleeve Matthew tried to convince the boy that nothing was wrong.

"N-no, Peter, it's okay!" He got up and took the boy's hands in his own, offering a small broken smile. "Please don't tell anyone; not Arthur, not Alfred, not Francis and most certainly not your Mama or Papa!"

Peter frowned, crossing his arms.

"If you're sick, Mama and Papa will make you feel better. They told me it's not good to keep things to yourself."

"T-they did, did they?"

"Yep!" It took every ounce of Matt's willpower to bite back his floods of tears. It was almost painful; his eyes stinging as more tears flooded his eyeballs.

"W-well Peter… sometimes it's just b-better not to tell anyone. And this is one of those times."

Matthew absently grappled his abdomen, quickly turning away just as the first tears broke free.


	26. To Reunite A Family

**Chapter 25:**** To Reunite A Family**

We're finally nearing the end of the story!

And remember; dialogue all in italics means the characters are communicating in their native language.

**Date:**** 1st February, 2013**

* * *

"Papa, please, I just want to go home."

"_Cher_, what's wrong? 'ave you been crying?"

* * *

Shortly after his little talk with Sealand, Canada had descended downstairs, the tears barely dry from his face. His eyes had become rather red and puffy with distinct damp trails covering his cheeks. He appeared flustered as he spent the following minutes trying to persuade his family to take him to Gilbert.

Nobody had to know. He had a plan to make things alright again. He couldn't kid himself. But perhaps there was a way of pulling the wool over Gilbert's eyes without him even knowing the truth. He could barely believe it himself.

After all, sleeping with Ivan was one thing. Being pregnant with his child was another. Would Gilbert even care if it wasn't his fault? No. Matthew knew Gilbert hated Ivan with every ounce of his body. Why would he want his child running around just to remind him of that burning, unforgiveable hatred?

It took nearly half an hour before they could go. Matthew didn't care at this moment what the Nordic couple thought of him for he was too tied up with his own plans to worry. Luckily neither Tino nor Berwald could really blame someone like him to want to go back home to their partner. Berwald certainly knew that he'd be the same way, probably worse.

Allowed to keep the clothes he already wore, Matthew and Benjamin were packed into the back seat of Francis' car along with Francis, whom volunteered to sit and comfort the seemingly stressed Canadian. A mild squabble ensured involving who would drive ended with Arthur coming up victorious and a bit later they were on their way to Berlin.

Whilst Matthew and Benjamin finally drifted off to sleep in the arms of Francis, there was a hushed silence over the vehicle. The soft hum of the engine buzzed through their ears. Nobody said anything for a long time.

* * *

So, Gilbert kept his word. After spending that night with Roderich and leaving the morning after he returned for more. Infact, Gilbert had returned that very same day to take him back to Berlin to stay with him up in his moth-eaten attic room. Ultimately that also lead to his bed.

So, it hit him. Matthew was dead. Roderich wasn't. He couldn't hold back any longer and neither could his Roddy.

But they weren't exactly the nuclear family Gilbert had wanted. A family with the happy, loving parents and the dependent children. No. Gil didn't have a partner whom could make him maple-drenched pancakes or to snuggle up with. He didn't have someone to share the bed with and to share any kind of parental responsibilty with.

Roderich wasn't exactly the kind of person who wanted to cook a good greasy breakfast, let alone pancakes with lashings of syrup. At any rate he refused to spend much time in the kitchen at all, if he could help it that is unless he felt like baking some sort of sweet. And he most certainly wouldn't want to allow Gilbert to impregnate him.

One might consider him to be rather moody yet rather passionately passive towards Gil. If the albino wanted to do something that the aristocrat didn't quite agree to, he'd most certainly do it although begrudgingly. Gil found that he was easiest to persuade after sex.

_"Lunch, young master."_

Roderich lifted his gaze from the pages of his novel. He dog-eared the page and snapped it shut, setting it aside on the patio table. He was sat out in Ludwig's garden, contented with reading on a garden chair just outside the sliding doors of the living area. Like Tino and Berwald, Ludwig had decided on keeping a simple cottage. Keeping on top of the house work in a mansion was simply too much.

The majority of the garden was covered in patches of slushed frost, low enough so that the grass that covered the flat lawn peeked up through. Over the weeks Ludwig had banked the snow up against the picket fence that surrounded his garden. He'd made an exaggerated guess that there was a good five tons of snow in total and would be very glad when the spring sun finally awoke to melt it.

Still, the perfectionist Austrian couldn't help but see how scruffy the whole outside looked even after Germany's gruelling efforts. Plus, it was still far too cold. What was so wrong with eating inside by the fire?

Gilbert briefly admired Roderich; he looked so cute bundled up in his thick plum parker and lavender scarf and gloves. The cold had made his button nose a bright cherry red, with the warmth of his breath against the frigid air fogging up his specs.

A tray was set down next to Roderich on the patio table. It contained two of everything; two identical steaming mugs of hot chocolate with tiny pink and white marshmallows, two plates of toast dripping with butter and a side plate of wurst sausage. There were also a few bits of cutlery and some napkins - not that Gilbert would really bother using them.

_"Lunch should be served precisely at noon. It's now three thirty."_ Roderich scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

_"You're too fussy. Besides, we had a late breakfast."_

_"Only because you wouldn't get up until nine thirty."_ Armed with a knife and fork, Gil sliced a piece of wurst and held it to Roderich's mouth. He eyed it almost suspiciously; he wasn't a massive fan of this particular herby sausage but he didn't say anything. He swallowed the slice of pork after another short hesitation, reaching for one of the mugs of cocoa.

Roderich took a generous gulp of the hot marshmallowy drink, savouring its creamy texture. The intense sweetness of the drink immediately hit him. He couldn't deny that he didn't enjoy sweets… but this was almost too sugary tasting. He could practically feel the fluff already beginning to sprout on the enamel.

Roderich coughed, sputtering out a question.

_"D-did you put maple syrup in this?"_

Gilbert frowned. He caught Roderich by surprise when he swept in, catching him briefly in a short and invasive kiss. When he pulled away with a sniggering 'Kesesese' he licked the hot chocolate froth from his lips. Yep. There was definitely a hint of maple there.

_"Sorry. That's my mine,"_ He took the mug and switched it with the other drink that was sitting on the tray. _"Since I can't have it with my pancakes."_

_"We don't eat pancakes."_

_"Not anymore. "_ He replied with a saddened sigh, plonking himself down on the other garden chair. He whipped a red criss-cross patterned woollen beanie from his pocket and pulling it over his head.

The two ate peacefully; Roderich chewing and dabbing his lips every now and again with a napkin he'd produced from his pocket, Gilbert munching away with veracious animalistic bites.

_"Does your food actually hit the side of your throat?"_

_"Nope."_

_"You'll choke if you keep eating like that."_

_"Ha! The awesome-me isn't gonna choke!"_ He popped the last slither of sausage into his mouth, smacking his lips. He opened his mouth to show Roddy. _"See? All gone!"_

As soon as they both finished and the dishes were taken back to the kitchen to later be washed up, it began to snow. Light fluffy flakes fluttered down from the soft grey clouds above, drifting to the earth at their own pace.

So it was insisted that the young master was to be carried inside to the living room to warm up by the log fire. The serene atmosphere didn't last long, for with the knowledge that Ludwig and Feliciano wouldn't be back from Rome until the following evening, they lustfully made love right there on the couch.

* * *

Hours passed by. Matthew's eyes, sticky with sleep, slowly eased open. He was resting up at Francis' side, his head tucked up against his Papa's chest. Francis lazily glanced down when he sensed some movement coming from his darling Canadian. A smile tugged at his lips.

He partly looped an arm around the boy, rubbing his lower back gently.

"Mm… Papa?" Matthew was still trying to fully gain consciousness. His voice croaked, thick with sleep.

A face appeared from behind the front seats of the car. Arthur.

"If he's still sleeping, leave him be, Francis. Poor bugger." While Matthew had been sleeping, they'd stopped off at a gas station for a quick rest and to re-fuel. Then, Arthur had switched with Alfred allowing the young American to finally have a turn at the wheel.

Sometime during Matthew's descent into dreamland, Arthur had acquired Benjamin. Because of the precious passengers Arthur had threatened Alfred's own life if he didn't drive carefully down the stretch of highway. Alfred called him a paranoid jackass, Arthur retaliated with careless prick.

"Mm… I'm fine… mm… mm…? Papa?" Matthew shifted himself around, wrinkling his nose. It took a moment or two for it to register in his mind that something was wrong. "Papa?! Papa, where's Benjamin?!"

Panic bubbled up. That baby was the most precious thing in his life at this point; that, and Gilbert. Then there was the young life that had begun to grow within the makeshift womb that he somehow possessed.

"Papa where is he?! Benjamin?! Papa, he's gone! Benjamin?!"

"_Mathieu_, calm down, _cher_!"

"Alfred, pull over!"

"Where?!"

"The lay-by! Hurry up!" The vehicle swerved into the lane to get off the road. Several cars overtook, honking rudely as they moved, prompting Alfred to yell at the other drivers.

Finally they were safely out of the way with no chance of crashing if Matthew managed to scramble into the front. Benjamin was beginning to stir from the sudden disturbance, crinkling his forehead with little mumbling cries.

Francis clutched Matthew by the shoulders before he hurt himself.

"_Petit_, calm down! Benjamin is safe. Arthur 'as 'im." The panic-stricken Canadian's eyes were wild with fear. His breathing had become rather rapid until his mind was put at ease when Arthur swivelled in his seat, presenting the tiny infant.

Alfred switched off the engine and turned to face the backseat passengers.

"Hey, is he okay?"

"_Oui_… I think 'e was just a bit scared, non? It is fine, _Mathieu_. We understand that you are probably feeling a bit… uh…" Stroking at Matthew's hair, Francis looked to Arthur. The fear his eyes showed began to wane when Benjamin was in his arms. Arthur caught Matthew's flickering gaze.

"…lost? Afraid...?"

"Ah… _oui_. You're safe now, _petit_. You 'ave nothing to worry about."

"Yes… don't worry, lad. We're nearly at Germany's now. Try to get a bit more sleep and we'll wake you up in an hour's time."

Folded on the floor by the backseat there was an old fleece blanket that Francis kept during the colder months. He'd cover his shoulders in the warm cloth when driving, or in case of emergency.

Francis reached for it, spreading it over Matthew and Benjamin. When he was finally settled with his head rested back against Francis' shoulder, the Frenchman took the chance to study the young parent's facial features.

Matthew's face was almost completely devoid of colour, save for his cheeks which were practically aglow with a scarlet hue. His eyes were still a little dark from earlier but with the stains left behind by his earlier crying now barely visible.

Once or twice the old engine spluttered and coughed. Alfred cursed under his breath, roughly turning the car key in the ignition as he kept trying to start it up. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they were moving off again.

The engine soon smoothed out again, the throaty coughs replaced by a soft whirring hum. The highway was surprisingly quiet at the moment so Alfred was granted the ability to speed the small vehicle up. Beside him Arthur sat deep in his seat staring through the glass at the world outside.

Compared to the quiet little country roads that were dotted around Sweden and Germany, the tarmac was free of dangerous ice patches and snow. Constant use of them meant they had to be gritted.

Arthur sighed. He pushed a hand through his saturated blonde hair, massaging his scalp with the pads of his fingers. Not quarter of an hour since they resumed, he checked to ensure Matthew was asleep. Francis reassured him the Canadian was practically out cold.

The nations that were left awake soon broke into conversation. They deliberately spoke softly, practically a mutter of words as they conversed to one another.

"…Do you think we should be doing this?"

"Mm? What do you mean, _Angleterre_?"

"Taking Matthew straight to Gilbert. We know the bastard's already back to sleeping with that Austrian-toff. What are we to say when Matthew sees it with his own eyes?"

"_Angleterre_, that is something Gilbert will 'ave to deal with 'imself. 'E will 'ave to explain to_ Mathieu_ everything."

There was a brief silence.

"Then what?" Arthur asked. "We can't just make him get back together with Matthew if reuniting them goes ass over tit, can we?"

"Of course not, _cher_. I'm afraid if worse comes to worse, we're just going to 'ave to be there for _Mathieu_ and Benjamin."

This time, Alfred broke the silence.

"So… if everything does ended up getting majorly screwed up… where's Mattie gonna live? He doesn't have a house anymore, does he?"

"I'll 'ave them stay with _moi_ until we can get 'im back on 'is feet," Francis replied decisively, fondly gazing down at the boy. Even if there was no blood relation between them, Matthew was still the son he'd always love. "I still 'ave 'is bedroom in my 'ome in Paris. 'E'll be 'appy there."

Planting a kiss atop of his somewhat messy blonde mop, Francis slid down in his seat slightly until he could comfortably rest his bearded chin on Matthew's head.

Within the hour, the small car pulled up Germany's driveway.


	27. Ich Liebe Dich

**Chapter 26:**** 'Ich Liebe Dich.'**

**Date: ****1st February, 2013**

* * *

_"Hey, young master, it's still snowing out there. Look. Isn't it awesome?."_

Gilbert watched the snowfall outside the living room window from his spot down beside the hearth on the sheep-skin rug. Apart from a blanket cover he'd taken from the couch and his underwear – a simple pair of cotton boxers – he wore nothing. His clothes were strewn about the laminate floor.

He was rather cosy nestled up by the fire, covered with the blanket. Oh, and Roderich tensely curled up beside him, just as bare as the Prussian who's chest his head was rested upon. Slowly Roderich sat up himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the side as though to avoid the taunting red gaze of the other.

The albino sighed with content, pulling Roderich closer against his side. He was blissfully unaware of the fact that he was saturated with the stink of sex and sweat. Roderich on the other hand did notice.

_"You smell terrible."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yes. Take a shower."_

_"Eh? Who else is gonna be sniffin' the awesome-me besides you? We're the only ones here~"_

_"It's disgusting. Besides, I thought you were one to enjoy cleanliness."_

_"Ah, don't be such as stiff!"_

_"Please, do be quiet."_

The Prussian cackled. The Austrian groaned. Then there was a sharp knocking on the front door. For a moment neither moved, hoping whoever it was would just go away. Then after the third round of knocks, Gil finally got up. He reached for his blouse and sluggishly put it on, only half buttoning it up.

Deciding he looked reasonably presentable he took the blanket he had just been bundled in and dropped it over Roderich's naked form. The aristocrat promptly covered himself up. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to hide himself from his lover's prying eyes; after all, it wasn't like he hadn't seen him in just the flesh before.

But old habits die hard. Sex was different when he was aroused and lost in a haze of lust that he didn't seem to notice until he calmed down and was finally brought back to his senses. Then he'd realise how embarrassing he'd been throughout the whole ideal.

_"I'm gonna get the door. You get the water going upstairs, 'kay?"_

_"Mmf… fine."_

As soon as Roderich left the room and as soon as he'd gathered up their clothes and slung them over the arm of the chair, Gilbert stumbled to the door. He silently prayed that whoever it was had gotten sick of waiting and left.

"_Ja, ja,_ what do you want…?" He called, unlocking and jerking the door open. Dammit, why did someone always show up at the wrong time? He'd been so happy snuggled there by the fire!

"Uh… Francis?" The aforementioned Frenchman was standing at the door. Behind him stood Arthur and Alfred. The East German scanned their faces, trying to pick up any clues to why they were here. What was going on exactly?

Out of the trio, the Frenchman looked the most upset. Hurt, even. Arthur was scowling just a teensy bit and Alfred looked almost neutral with a hint of sadness evident upon his young features.

"The hell are you guys doing here? Look if it's about getting back together with Roderich so soon, then-"

"_Non. Mon amis_, we need to talk."

"_Gott_, fine. Come in."

He turned to lead them back into the lounge until he heard Arthur suddenly speak in a low tone. He went to reply himself, a little puzzled, until he realised that it wasn't aimed at himself but rather at the American.

"Go back to the car."

"What? Why?"

"Wake him up and bring him inside. Now that the heating's off, the car will be bloody freezing. Hurry now."

The American scurried off much to Gil's curiosity. He brought them to the lounge where he gestured for them to sit down. Francis took the couch next to him while Arthur settled himself in Ludwig's favourite armchair.

"You guys want something to drink? We got hot chocolate _und_ tea."

"We're fine, Gilbert. This is more important." Francis replied, eyeing a crumpled cravat and navy blue coat on the arm of the couch.

"_Ja_? What about?"

"Well, we know – everyone knows – that you've gotten back with Roderich, _oui_? Many of us think it might 'ave been a bit soon…"

"Eh? You telling me I should just dump him? Like hell I'm gonna do that!"

Francis ignored Gil's protest. The Prussian was dressed rather shabbily, at the bare minimum nonetheless.

"'E's 'ere isn't 'e, _mon amis_?"

"What I think Francis means is that maybe you moved on a bit too soon. I mean, to be honest lad, you spent no time searching for Matthew-"

"You're the one who convinced me to stop! Is this all you came here for?! Bastards, get outta_ mein_ house!"

A red mist fogged Gilbert's vision. Why did they have to bring this up? Were they trying to punish him with some sort of guilt trip for not looking harder?

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening and shutting with a loud 'clack' made the three nations glance up. Out in the hallway the three older nations heard the familiar boisterous vocalisation of Alfred. He was talking to someone?

For a second Gilbert wasn't overly interested; whoever it was, he didn't care.

That is, until he heard soft infantile cries.

"_Was zur Hölle_? What's that?" The albino hissed, cringing as the cries rang up an octave into a shrill screech. As quickly as it had started up the cries died back down to something softer. Something more human-like.

Slowly, very slowly, Gil stood up. He turned to head towards the door of the living room however, a certain sight made him stop dead in his tracks.

The little white hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his flesh becoming all goose-pimply. His pale lips were pursed, quivering as though he was trying to speak but could not force the words out.

Then, his own eyes failed him as tears began to flood his vision.

"Is… is this supposed to be some kind of sick fucking joke?! _Sie sind alle verdammt Arschlöcher_!" Standing about ten feet opposite from him stood Alfred with his arm around a rather young man. A young man dressed in drawstring pyjama pants with a mismatched night-shirt that buttoned up the front. And still he was wearing the hand-knitted cardigan that he had been dressed in hours before in order to keep the cold out, along with the fleecy blanket from the car. That was draped over him like a little old lady's shawl, covering his shoulders and chest, as well as concealing the source of the now silenced cries.

Strands of long blonde hung limply over features identical to Alfred, but unlike Alfred the young man's face was bare of any specs and instead the pair of eyes that stared back were like a pair of wide, shiny amethyst orbs.

They seemed unseeing. Scared.

But, despite what he had just said, even Gilbert couldn't deny what he was seeing. Even in his burst of disbelief Gilbert recognised the other nation, right down to the gravity defying curl.

Matthew leaned in against his brother. There was nothing he could do – or so he had thought - but cry. How long had it been since he'd seen Gilbert in person, rather than relying on the memories he'd previously captured just to see his smile? For Matthew, too long.

Francis could feel the tension, what might happen or was about to. Neither one of his best friends or little son were speaking. Matthew just stood there looking as fragile as a porcelain doll with innocent doe eyes.

The Canadian was the first to open his lips.

"Hullo, Gilbert."

It came out as little more than a whisper that was barely audible over the sniffles.

Francis dared to crack a smile.

"_Mon amis_, don't you want to say anything to _Mathieu_?" _**S'il vous plait, don't mention Roderich…!**_

"I-I don't know… Mattie, it's really you,_ ja_?"

Matthew nodded.

"But… but you're dead? Arthur told me-"

"Gil, I'm here, aren't I?"

"_Ja… ja_ but…!" The albino shook his head. This simply wasn't registering in his head. Seriously, what was going on?

Alfred was given an approving nod, then a second look by Francis to tell him to sit down. Just as Alfred was about to lead his brother and nephew over towards the couch, Gilbert ambled over. If Matthew hadn't died, what had happened?

He stood before the brothers; head tilted forwards, ruby eyes glazed. Slowly he brought up his hands – his shaking, trembling hands – to place them on Matthew's upper arms. Then, the grip tightened. It wasn't a painful grip but enough to make Matthew squeak like a mouse caught in a trap.

Alfred growled softly at the German's rough and sudden approach. He resisted the instinctive urge to knock the shorter man backwards, to be the hero for his brother if he was being caused any grief. He balled a fist and was about to strike the albino back when Matthew shot him a quick glance.

_It's okay._

Alfred responded with the furrowing of his brow. He was hesitant, just in case, but then again Arthur and Francis would undoubtedly lend a hand if the German suddenly flipped his shit.

Slowly, the older brother backed off to the side.

"I want you to tell me exactly what happened. Every last fucking detail. Now."

* * *

So, they sat down. He told him about his departure to Moscow, how he'd been forced to endure the unbelievably painful and difficult experience of child labour and then how he'd been mistreated until his rescue.

He told Gilbert everything… well, perhaps not everything. Being blackmailed into sleeping and having humiliating sex with Ivan and then the resulting pregnancy was very much under lock and key. But as Matthew neared the end of it all he found himself slowly rubbing at his stomach. Nobody could know. He'd find a way around it, somehow.

Gilbert was a gentleman to his former lover. He waited patiently to allow the hate for Ivan to burn up every other emotion he could possibly feel at this moment.

"Mattie… you didn't fucking listen to me, did you?"

"G-Gil…"

"Don't you remember? I told you to let that commie bastard come _und_ get his damned scarf himself. _Nein_! You had to go _und_ return it yourself!"

"Gilbert…! I-I'm sorry…!"

As Gil began to raise his voice, Matt lowered his. Francis, who had reassigned himself with sitting on the arm of the chair, immediately sprang to his feet with a dangerous look in his eye. Gilbert wouldn't seriously think about hurting Matthew, would he?

The loudness of Gil's voice was what set off the tiny baby. He was still very much hidden behind the brown blanket yet his presence was made known when he began to writhe in fever-induced agony.

Once again, Gil pricked his ears. He listened, lips agape. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen this child Matthew had scarcely spoke of in his story. Even his name had yet to be mentioned.

At the spur of the moment the blanket was seized and torn from Matt's shoulders. A tiny red-face baby bawled. Hot tears streamed down the sides of Benjamin's chubby cheeks and dripped down onto his wraps.

Wide eyed Gil sat staring as Matthew tried to calm the child. Gentle fingers calloused the silvery hairs in a soothing manner, stopping every now and again to wipe the occasional tear away with a thumb.

Soon, Benjamin's nerve wracking sobs were replaced with noisy sniffles. Gilbert blinked, snapping himself from the moment of awe. A feeling of paternal pride swelled up within him, forcing a small smile to tug at his lips.

Arthur's expression softened considerably, and he strode forward from the spot he'd been sitting at. He wondered if it would be a good idea to let them be to get on with it for a moment; he knew that if he was in Matthew's place that's what he'd want.

"Alright then lads. I think we should just let them be for a moment. I'll make us some tea." A quick reassuring pat on the shoulder, Arthur briefly bent his head close to Matthew's ear to drop him a message. "And luv; if he gets a bit upset, give us a shout. We'll only be in the kitchen."

One by one did the members of Matthew's family leave. Out in the kitchen they chattered quietly, the subject of which neither Matthew nor Gilbert was sure about. But they had their own matters to be getting on with.

Matthew sniffed quietly. Benjamin stared back up, eyes puffy and reddened from the excessive crying.

_**Poor baby…**_ Matthew thought, bringing him close. At all costs he avoided Gilbert's gaze even though he could practically feel those red-hot rubies boring holes right down to the pit of his very soul.

But he couldn't be more wrong. Gilbert wasn't looking at him. It was Benjamin who had stolen his attention, who seemed to deserve it more. After all, this was his first real meeting with his son.

"He's not been feeling well." Matthew explained, barely audible.

"I see. It doesn't matter though; he's still cute. You too." Benjamin hiccupped. In his feverish discomfort he turned in Matthew's arms, face scrunched.

Benjamin writhed, uttering a little whimper which earned him a gentle petting to his head from Gilbert. The child seemed to relax at first until he curled against his Papa's chest. He balled his fists then began to knock them wantingly against him. To Matthew it was quite clear to what his need was, despite Benjamin's lack of incoherent verbalisation.

The child was finally silence as he was nursed. Like a little piglet he couldn't contain a few soft grunts as he fed, to which Gilbert couldn't help but smile with a little amusement.

"I'm sorry, Mattie."

"F-for what?"

"For everything. Everything I've said, everything I did when you were held at Russia's. It… it was pretty un-awesome," He lowered his head in fear that Matthew would catch the blush that was beginning to grow across the bridge of his nose. "_I-ich liebe dich_… I love you._ Und_ the baby."

"I-I love you too."

"I missed you so much, _liebe_. I thought – no, everyone – thought you were dead." It was then he became aware that he could hear someone walking down the staircase, the creaking of each step giving that person away. Roderich. He'd have to make this quick.

Gilbert swallowed thickly.

"_Liebe_…?"

"Yes?"

"You know how everyone mistakenly thought you were dead?"

"Uh… yes. What about it?"

"Well…" Gilbert twiddled his thumbs. "How could I put this? Well… I kind of got back together with Roderich." The last word barely left his lips as a whisper. When he looked back up at Matt's face he wasn't surprised to see a look of pure horror on the boy's face.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. How could Gilbert do that to him? Somewhere inside Matthew had a feeling that something of the sort was bound to happen. He had found that although Gilbert had been lovable of sorts to himself, he was a selfish lover all the same. And it seemed almost understandable that he'd move on considering the circumstances.

Almost.

"America? What, may I ask, are you doing here?" Both nations looked up towards the door where Roderich stood.

The aristocrat was dressed in smart silk pyjamas, the colour of which reminded Matthew of a rather nasty looking bruise; a deep purply-blue colour, as well as a spotlessly cream bathrobe that hung off his body. With his clothes downstairs Roderich had improvised with a clean set of his usual bed-wear. Of course, he felt the cold after the shower (which he had disappointedly didn't share with Gil as he had hoped) so had fished Ludwig's robe from his room rather than march all the way up to the attic for one of Gil's.

He was holding a small white bath towel in one hand, using it to dry his deep brown hair. Once he was satisfied he ran his other hand through his scalp to neatly slick it back.

But of course like ninety-nine percent his fellow nations he rarely acknowledged Canada as Canada. And like most of the nations he thought the same man was dead. To him this was simply America. Alfred F. Jones. The buffoon of the Western world.

Roderich didn't really think all that badly of the American-idiot… but he still wanted to know why he was here at Ludwig's house.

"I'm not-"

"It's not America, Roddy. If you look carefully, it's Canada. See?" And as the albino spoke with a voice just a level louder than Matthew's, he deducted any eye contact with the Austrian nation. Instead his eyes lingered over the tiny form of his child whom had just moments ago finished feeding. Benjamin rolled onto his side towards his Vati. With a rather sheepish smile Gil couldn't help but stroke the cherry-red cheeks of the infant with the backs of his middle and forefinger.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Of course it had to be America. Canada was dead, wasn't he? Roderich approached the couch with his head and nose held up, eyes glaring through his specs.

But… but of course only Canada had long wavy blonde hair… and violet eyes… and… and a baby.

There was nothing Roderich could really say. It was blatantly Canada. There was no denying it. Roderich noticed his clothes slung over the side of the couch, so with little movements he walked on over and picked the pile up. It was the bare essentials; his cravat, his pants, his shirt and coat. God knows where his underwear and socks had ended up at. He concluded that it didn't matter.

Roderich politely nodded to Matthew, trying his best not to make eye contact as went about before departing the room, only stopping once to apologise (to whom it wasn't clear) and to announce that he'd be going home. Then he left.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Even out in the kitchen came no sound until the whistle of a kettle notified the occupants the water had finished boiling.

Gilbert bit his lip. Now what?

"Mattie, I…" He shook his head. "…I'm sorry."

"What're you going to do?"

"Eh? What are you talking about?"

"Gil… Gil, I love you. And I love being with you…"

"_Ja_?"

"…But… I want what's best for Benjamin." Matthew bowed his head.

He didn't have the heart to be bitter and cruel to the man he loved, nor did he want Gilbert around if it was only going to make his life a misery. Raising a child was going to be tough. Matthew couldn't kid himself. And if Gilbert would rather be elsewhere with minimal parental responsibilities with Roderich… then so be it.

Downhearted and depressed by his own thoughts Matthew wrapped his arms around his child and stood.

"Gil... if it's in your best interest, then I'll take the baby and leave. I'll… I'll stay with Papa or Alfred or Arthur while I-"

"_Nein_. Matthew, stay," Snaking arms loosely coiled around Matthew's mid-section; the first time Gil had been able to complete such a feat in many months since before the pregnancy. "I don't want you to go. Please, stay? "

Like butter Matthew's hearted melted in his chest. Gilbert was rubbing his cheek against the young nation's thigh, ruffling the thin material of his drawstring pyjama pants.

"I'll break up with Roderich, I promise. _Und_, I'll be around for Benjamin."

"Gil…"

Matthew pushed at Gilbert's shoulder to persuade him to let go before he sat back down beside him. With a grunt he was taken in-arm, care taken to not compress Benjamin against the two grown-ups.

"But… but as soon as I see that fucking vodka-swilling bastard… Matthew, I'll kill the fucking _arschloch_. I promise I will."

Although he knew Gil was only bluffing, Matt leaned forward to peck him on one pale cheek.

"I know, I know. I won't stop you."


	28. I Want A Baby'

**Chapter 27:**** 'I Want A Baby'**

**Date:**** 1st February, 2013**

* * *

So, they had to improvise. The journey back to Francis' home was at least a six hour drive, perhaps longer. Arthur had insisted that they stay also; the Brit didn't feel overly comfortable with leaving Gilbert alone with Matthew nor Benjamin just yet.

Arrangements were made for them to sleep at Germany's little cottage. There weren't enough bedrooms to cater to all of Alfred, Arthur and Francis. Gilbert had managed to pull out a few spare duvets and pillows to make up the couch and armchair.

Once that was settled, the small family settled themselves in the living room. They talked awhile about un-relating matters and watched a little television once an easy meal of chicken broth soup and bread was consumed. For a majority of it Matthew dozed. Benjamin was taken upstairs to be bathed and to be put bed up in Germany's room – only temporarily of course.

It was just a relief when Gilbert pulled out a box of actual diapers from the belongings he'd salvaged from Matt's home just before it had been sold. It would mean the end of the flimsy cloth ones for some time until they made a trip to the shops.

It was eight thirty by the time they all finally decided to call it a night.

"Hey, are you sure it's okay, dude?"

"Kesesese. West and Feli aren't gonna be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest which is awesome."

"Well, I guess if it's okay!" Alfred laughed that ridiculous laugh and stretched out on the couch, pulling Arthur into his arms so that he came crashing down with him. This only earned Alfred a sharp smack to the dome of his head.

"Idiot!" Arthur hissed.

"Honhonhon… _Angleterre_, we know you love it."

"Shut it, frog."

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Gilbert sniggered as he locked the house up. He and Matthew collected up Benjamin before retiring to the attic room, a little sleepy and very much ready to call it a night.

* * *

Gilbert fished an old reed basket from the rest of the crap he had boxed up in his room and filled it with blankets and a cushion to serve as a cot. Benjamin had his last feeding and then was bedded back down.

When the Prussian slipped on some pyjama shorts and a shirt, he went downstairs to fetch a glass of warm milk for Matthew. And during this time Matthew decided to quickly get himself washed down in the bathroom.

He tip-toed down as to avoid waking Benjamin up. Otherwise, Matt reckoned all hell would break loose if he did.

Back on the second floor of the cottage he shut the bathroom door behind. He stripped himself down to his underwear to examine his body.

Bound in recently changed bandages with a few old bruises here and there, Matthew knew he looked a mess. At some point the bandage from around his head had been removed or slid off, revealing a minor bloodied scab where Sweden had accidently thwacked him the day before. His hair was matted with specks of blood, the long locks tangled nastily in some parts because of his fail to upkeep it's brushing. Matthew sighed softly as he prodded at a knot.

That would have to be cut out.

His fingers lightly touched a spot beneath his ribcage where an obvious splotch of mottled blue and black was already showing. Dragging his fingers over and down his abdomen, he stopped when his fingertips were resting just below his navel.

Half-lidded eyes gazed down. His body had barely returned back to shape since losing the baby weight of his previous pregnancy and frankly he knew he wouldn't enjoy the process of labour the next round.

The pure excruciating pain of trying to expel another smaller being was simply unimaginable, particularly when Matthew took Benjamin's miniscule size into account. If the baby had been any bigger Matthew was sure he'd of passed out from the pain. Then again, he'd had no medicines or drugs to ease it. Only on dear Ukraine's knowledge did it end with success.

_**Do I really want to go through that again? **_He asked himself, gazing back up at the man in the mirror. Just then, he heard a knock on the door.

"_Liebe_?" Immediately Matthew made a grab for the nightshirt and drawstrings.

"H-hang on, Gil!" Too late.

The door swung on open and there stood Gilbert, glass of milk in-hand.

The first thing Gilbert noticed when the door opened was the bandages. Of course he'd end up like that after being kept by Ivan – he himself still kept the scars of his past on his body. But he now considered them a trophy of sorts, along with every other.

Gilbert walked on over rather casually. He set the glass up on the windowsill and turned back to his love, sliding those chalky slender arms back where they belonged; around Matt's waist.

"He did this, huh?" Matthew nodded a fraction.

"Yes… but it's nothing. Just please, please don't go off and do anything stupid. Let's just let bygones be bygones, okay?"

Gilbert pushed his nose over Matt's shoulder, delicately planting a kiss at the base of his throat.

"Fine."

"No, not 'fine'. Promise me."

"_Ja_, I promise. But if that bastard comes anywhere near you again, then it's war."

"But you don't have an army."

"Then it's a bag of flaming dog shit on the front step _und_ a bullet in the head."

"Seems a bit harsh?"

"_Nein_. The bullet will kill him before he has to deal with the shit. Kesesese!" And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Gilbert saw Matthew laugh.

* * *

It wasn't half an hour later that they were sitting in bed; Gilbert was leaning against the headboard with Matthew curled up between his legs so that the profile of his face comfortably rested against Gil's chest. The whole house seemed to be shrouded with a wonderful silence.

Matthew remained in only his boxers – even the bandages had now been cast aside, for Gilbert insisted on seeing the damage that bastard-Ivan had done. He laid there, nose buried in Matt's hair, inhaling the unpleasant odour of dry blood and hair that mixed with Matt's usual sweet musk. One hand held Matt's, fingers gently rubbing over his knuckles whilst the other hand drew circles over the young Canadian's belly.

Both were watching the sleeping baby, whose cot resided atop a solid-looking cardboard box at the flank of the bed.

Matthew could barely keep his eyes open. And that glass of milk certainly hadn't helped matters!

Sensing the laxness in his muscles, Gil chuckled softly.

"Tired?"

"A little."

"Mm. You've always sound kinda sexy when you're like this. It's awesome."

After a few more sloppy exchanges the pair giggled like a pair of silly schoolgirls, Matt falling deeper in Gil's chest. When they finally calmed down Gil tilted his lover's chin up to press kisses along his neck. When he came to a faded bruise at the base of Matt's neck, he closed his lips over the patch before gently pressing his teeth in, barely enough to mark as he sucked it.

Matthew moaned moreishly, twisting in the hold with a soft whine. This action alone made it so it took a deliciously feral turn as Gilbert deepened the cutesy nibble into a full-on bite, determination with his work. Matt cried out quite suddenly although one of Gil's hands slipped over his mouth to stifle him, the other hand moving from the Canadian's body up to his shoulder to keep him firmly in place. He was re-establishing his claim; his territory that was the beautiful young nation of Canada.

Then, very gradually, Gilbert loosened his hold with a soft sensual growl lifting from his lips. When he pulled away a single strand of saliva kept them connected for just a few precious moments before severing. Gilbert couldn't help but lick the fresh tender injury with an animalistic hunger of sorts. The spot had turned a deep shade of red crowned with a broken circle of indentions made by his teeth. Beautiful.

Freed from this oral-induced oppression, Matthew immediately turned to exact his revenge. With a snap of his jaws he seized the end of Gil's nose and tweaked it playfully.

"Ouch!"

"Serves you right." Gilbert grinned sheepishly. He slid his hands over the undertoned chest of the blonde with a smirk, absently rubbing them over his nipples.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

With a cackle Gilbert nuzzled the freshly bitten spot on his neck earning him a sweet shiver.

Matthew smiled. Gil was getting into 'the mood'. Now if he could convince him to just go through with the next part of his plan, he needn't worry about Russia's baby.

Meanwhile the albino had switched positions with his boyfriend. He had begun to kiss along his collarbone and chest, disregarding the love-bites previously placed by Ivan as more bruises and injuries whilst also trying to forget about his own growing arousal down below.

"Gil?"

"Nn… _Ja_?"

"Gil… how would you feel about having another baby?" Gil jerked his head away.

"W-what…? Another b-baby?"

"Yeah. I… ah… well…"

"Mattie, you're not serious, are you?" Matthew shrugged.

"I guess I am… I mean, it'd be nice for Benjamin to have a little brother or sister, right? And I kinda miss the whole pregnancy thing… don't you?"

Gilbert said nothing. While it had been nice to have a big cuddly Canadian who practically begged for sex every other day, the mood swings had been almost intolerable. Matthew didn't have aggressive swings per say. Most of the hormone-induced moments resulted in torrents of tears or melodramatic moments of drama over the littlest things.

But Gilbert was concerned.

"But _Liebe_… you've just had a baby," He stroked back Matthew's bangs to uncover those lustrious violet orbs. "I think we should wait a little while. Until your injuries have healed up a bit."

"I told you, Gil, they're not that bad!"

"_Liebe_, we can't."

"Yes we can! Please?"

Gilbert stared for a moment. Why was Matthew being so stubborn to accept the fact that it was perhaps too early for another child? Benjamin was barely two months old and still very much dependant on the care provided by Papa Matthew and now Vati Gilbert.

"Think about it, Mattie," Gil said, trying to get Matthew to see from a more reasoning point of view. "Benjamin is our first baby, _ja_?"

"Yes…"

"_Und_ first babies are always the most difficult – everyone knows that. Our lives would only be made harder if we had another little one to look out for. When Benjamin's a little older, then why we don't reconsider it then?"

Matthew hated it when Gilbert became the voice of reason and wisdom. Of course, this wasn't good enough. He needed Gilbert's blessing and co-operation to have a child. Otherwise…

"We can cope! Please? Gilbert?"

"_Liebe_, you're raising your voice…" He gestured with his head at the basket-cot.

"I-I'm sorry… but I still want another baby. And I'm not taking no for an answer." Gilbert looked a little stunned. Matthew sat there before him. And even though he was smiling it was quite clear to Gilbert that the emotion his eyes held was not a positive one. Something was going on here.

"Mattie… hey, what's going on? What's 'this' all of a sudden?"

"What? I… I just want a baby, that's all." Matthew's voice cracked half-way. That's when Gilbert could tell this was a lie… but why was he so desperate for a baby he most likely did not want?

"_Liebe_, we have a baby. An awesome little baby boy. Isn't he enough?"

Quietly Matthew lowered his head, fighting the tears that welled in his eyes, gripping his knees until his knuckles went white.

"I just want one… y'know, when Benjamin's older he's going to want a little brother or sister to play with, eh. And what if at that time we can't give him one?"

"We will! But not now."

The previous interest of engaging in sex had already vanished from Gilbert's mind as he began to crawl to his side of the bed, throwing back the duvet until he wriggled under. Contented the German patted the spot beside him.

"Come here, Mattie. Let's get some sleep and forget this 'another baby' crap for now, okay?" Matthew scrunched his eyes shut. He didn't want to resort to abortion. He really didn't. But he very well couldn't bear with the thought of raising a child that Gilbert would surely hate and possibly leave him for.

Matthew rocked unsteadily back and forth. Ideas were beginning to form; what he could say, what he could do. Of course he could try to seduce Gilbert into finally submitting to sex. And of course he would see it coming and dance around the ideal until Matthew gave up.

"I said I'm not taking no for an answer." It was barely audible with a hint of saddened annoyance. Matthew slid from the bed, gathering up his scattered pyjamas and putting them on. Then he walked over to Benjamin to kiss his forehead before turning for the door.

Gilbert sat back up again.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going downstairs."

"Why?"

"Because I need to talk to Papa."

"About what?"

"You won't understand. You won't like it."

And he left.


	29. Happy Ending?

**Chapter 28:**** Happy Ending?**

This is the last chapter.

Please excuse any mistakes with the French/German. My language skills are pretty crappy... and as a result I ended up using Google Translate XD

This was kind of rushed, but it has been 'fixed' now. My apologies XD

The prologue of the sequel ('The Game of Happy Families') has now been released.

**Date: ****1st February, 2013**

* * *

Arthur, Alfred and Francis were already fast asleep in the dark living room.

Francis was sitting in the sofa, head lolled to the side on a single sagged pillow, arms stretched over the armrests. A single thin duvet was thrown over his legs and toes for warmth although the room itself was still quite toasty as the remaining logs in the fireplace smouldered into charcoaled cinders. His coat and capelet were neatly folded on the floor beside the chair alongside the man's boots and socks.

On the sofa Alfred was lying flat on his back on the piece of furniture, head turned inwards with his back to the rest of the room – but for good reason. Partially draped over his broad form beneath one of his arms, wedged between himself and the sofa cushion, was Arthur, whom was wearing only his jacket, unbuttoned to reveal the plan shirt underneath and his boxers. Alfred wore similar attire; a plain vest and his own boxer shorts.

Like with Francis, they had set their jackets and pants aside.

Arthur had no need for a pillow for Alfred's chest sufficed as the two were snuggled contently beneath a light-weight duvet meant for a double bed.

Matthew stood in the doorway, trembling. The cottage was very dark and very quiet. Matthew wasn't particularly familiar with the small household yet somehow the quiet Canadian had managed to get lost before he'd even left the second floor.

But here he was, watching his family sleep. The outdated grandfather clock in the hall told him that it had just gone nine. The moon outside was hanging low in the sky as it served as his only means of picking his way through the shadows with a dim luna glow.

They looked so peaceful. So happy. That goofy grin upon brother-America's face in comparison to the concentrated furrowing of cranky-England's thick brows. Then Papa-France who wore a smile as though he hadn't a care in the world, dreaming dreams of God knows what.

So naturally he hated that for what he had in mind he would disturb them.

Matthew tugged at his pyjama bottoms, picking the moment when he finally made his way on over to the armchair. Francis was murmuring something, something in French but the words bubbled over one another making it impossible for Matthew to pick out the exact words. But judging by the rather perverse smile that was beginning to show on the old nations face, Matthew could only assume it contained good thoughts – in what context, he wasn't sure.

"Papa… Papa…?" Matthew whimpered when he received no reaction. Was he being too soft? He took the Frenchman's shoulder in a loose grip and shook it gently. "Papa…?"

It didn't take long before Francis' smile contorted into a frown not unlike Arthur's. His eyelashes fluttered slightly.

"Mm…"

"Papa?"

"…Cher… what's wrong…?" Matthew withdrew his hand.

"Papa… I need to talk to you… please…?" Francis mumbled something softly, rubbing the top of his head. His eyes were riddled with sleep and his mouth gummy to the point where he started to smack his lips with soft popping sounds.

"Of course, cher. Did you 'ave a nightmare? Where's Gilbert?" Francis opened up his arms – a gesture familiar to Matthew that told him to sit down on the man's lap. It was an activity long forgotten since his colony days, Francis having said before that he was probably too old for it, but tonight was an acceptation it seemed.

Matthew snuggled sideways against his chest, leaning into Francis' palm as he stroked his head.

"I-I can't t-tell Gilbert, Papa… I-I can't…" A tear rolled down his cheek. Though Francis couldn't see it he could feel the taller young nation trembling slightly within his arms. Despite his overall drowsiness Francis recognised immediately that he'd have to comfort the boy.

Before the sobs escalated to a volume that could awaken the others, he hushed him gently, cradling him in one arm with the other holding his head close whilst steadily teetering to and fro.

"'Ush, now, petit. 'ush, 'ush."

Francis said nothing. He held his own opinion that Matthew was not ready for a child. His age was deceiving; at first glance anyone else would suspect that he was an ordinary eighteen year old human boy, not a nation that was well over two hundred years. But he was still very much a child emotionally.

Francis and Arthur both knew from the point when they first heard that Matt was expecting that he simply wasn't ready. That he wouldn't be able to deal with a baby as well as his duties and then the stress would build up and up and up… until the shit hit the fan and it all blew back in the young man's face.

Then there was Gilbert. Sure, he had some experience; he had kind of taken care of a young Ludwig for a short while. A few hundred years ago. Chances are, he was out of practice and more than a bit rusty with how to properly take care of a small child.

Matthew sniffled, rubbing the side of his head against Francis' neck. The Frenchman perched his chin on his head, never slowing down with either his rocking or comforting murmurs.

Several minutes passed and Francis was now wide awake. Although Matthew had calmed down the tears hadn't totally ceased, continuing to cascade down his cheek at a slower pace.

"Are we feeling better, petit?" Matthew nodded, hesitating only a second. "Oui? Non?"

"O-oui, Papa…"

"Papa knows you are lying, Mathieu," Francis quickly replied, tapping him disapprovingly on the nose. It didn't take a genius to come to that conclusion. "Tell Papa the truth."

The Canadian boy opened his mouth before closing it again. On the couch opposite, Arthur mumbled something softly into Alfred's chest, making Francis glare up. It kind of disgraced Francis to how Arthur was in a relationship with one of his ex-charges; a boy he'd considered as his brother for a short while. Did the Brit have any form of restraint?

The Frenchman mentally shook his head before his attention turned back to his son.

Matthew avoided his gaze at all cost. Neither noticed Alfred who was beginning to rouse from his slumber.

"Papa… Papa, I-"

"Hey. What's goin' on…?" Two pair on the armchair glanced up. There was Alfred, conscious. He went on with the delicate process of peeling Arthur from his chest, setting him back down against the couch cushions with the duvet over his head.

Alfred sauntered over, combing his fingers through his messed blonde hair, eyes squinting. It wasn't an exaggeration to say he looked like the living dead.

"It's nothing, Alfred. Go back to sleep." Said Francis, beginning to stroke Matthew's hair in a loving fashion. Alfred blinked once. He lifted an arm, pointing to the kitchen.

"Actually I was gonna get a drink… why're you guys up?" He quickly surveyed the rest of the room. "Is Prussia still upstairs?"

"Don't worry about that, Alfred. Mathieu and I were about to 'ave a talk, that's all."

Shrugging it off with a yawn, Alfred left to get himself that drink. This time Arthur was beginning to stir; he had, after all, just lost his great big warm pillow. With sleepy eyes Arthur poked his head out from under the duvet.

His mossy eyes scanned the shadows, every contour and every detail, hoping to somewhere spot his missing comfort. Realising that Alfred wasn't here the Brit sat up, rubbing his eyes. He then came to notice that he wasn't the only one awake in the room.

"Bloody hell, what time is it? Not late, I hope." But Arthur's words fell on deaf ears. It seemed that Mathew had begun to cry again. Francis began to rock again, trying to calm the near-hysteric boy again before he hyperventilated and blacked out as a result. Although it seemed a bit mean, at the time Francis had a five-second wish that that exact scenario would just playout so he could resume sleeping before he scolded himself for being so selfish.

Matthew was speaking in French, but too quickly and too broken up by the sobs that his Papa could barely decipher what was being said.

Immediately the dazed Arthur jumped to his feet.

"Lad, what's wrong?" Arthur switched on the overhead living room light. In an instant the room became fully lit, causing the three nations to cringe as their eyes failed to immediately adjust. Small lights popped in front of Matthew's vision, a dull haziness wavering in and out. Then, he became rather light-headed. He took the hint straight away, stopping his cries to refill his lungs with oxygen. He hiccupped just a bit before burying his face into Francis' blouse. The tears just kept on coming, gallon by the gallon.

"What happened to him?" Arthur demanded, crouching at Francis' feet. Just then Alfred hurried in with a full glass of water.

"I don't know. 'E came down 'ere maybe a quarter of an 'our ago, wanting to talk."

"About what?"

"I 'aven't a clue."

"Hey, what's going on?" The self-acclaimed hero asked, sounding uncharacteristically anxious when he realised the state his brother was in.

"Alfred, run upstairs and fetch Gilbert, will you? Wake him up if it's necessary." Ordered Arthur.

Alfred nodded, before a sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. Whatever this was, was it so serious? He handed the glass over to Arthur before hurrying from the room, stomping up the flight of stairs in his haste.

By the time Gilbert joined them in the living room Matthew was suffering from a terrible headache from crying so hard. But thankfully the tears had stopped gushing. It seemed as though he had none left to cry which suited his Papa just fine; his blouse was about transparent from the collection of tears and snot that it had just been collecting up, enough to make him cringe with disgust.

Gilbert took Arthur's place by the armchair. He reached for Matthew's hand only for Matthew to pull it away at the last moment, enough so the albino's fingertips rushed his flesh.

"Mattie, what's wrong? Liebe, what happened?"

"Papa, Je n'ai pas fait exprès!"

"Hm? Petit, what do you mean?"

"Je n'ai pas fait exprès, Je n'ai pas fait exprès!" Francis sighed quietly, shaking his head.

"Well?! What's he saying?" The Prussian demanded, eyes filled with more hurt and worry from his lover's apparent rejection to his touch more than anything. Ever since Matthew had come back into their lives he had seemed so much more different. Irritable, stressed… daresay, unhappy even.

"'E is saying that it's not 'is fault."

"What's not?"

"I don't know. Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, petit? Parlez-moi." Matthew pushed his head deep into Francis' chest, as deep as it would go without trying to bore a hole through his chest.

"Papa… Papa, j'attends un enfant…"

"Quoi?" And from there the tears started again, only just. If he lost anymore fluids the boy would surely become sick with dehydration, so the concerned Francis gestured for the glass of water Arthur was still holding.

"Mathieu, avoir quelque chose à boire." Matthew stared at the glass, eyes large and bewildered. His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks glossy with wetness. Strands of his fringe were slicked against his cheeks, stuck. Very slowly he took the glass and began to drink, only managing a few small gulps without choking on it between sobs. Then the glass was removed and Francis pulled him back into a hug.

"Now, petit. S'il vous plait… let's try again. What's wrong?"

"J'attends un enfant. Ivan… Ivan est le père."

"Oh, petit… êtes-vous sûr?"

"What's he saying? Dammit, tell me!" What really irked Gilbert was the fact that he was sure he'd heard the mention of a certain Russian's name amidst Matthew's words.

Francis looked to Matthew to find approval but since the boy refused to look at his parent, he decided to just go ahead.

Arthur and Alfred waited with bated breath, neither of them certain whether or not they want to hear this news, whatever it might be.

"If I am not mistaken… Mathieu is pregnant."

There was some sort of silence in the room, though it was quite unlike the silence that Matthew had experienced when his family were told of the last pregnancy with Benjamin. There was no feeling of awe, no feeling of warmth. The room had grown cold with the anticipation of a bitter response. It wasn't like before at all.

"I'm sorry… but what?" Arthur spoke softly, wide eyed with disbelief. Gilbert's face had been blank for about thirty seconds. Then, it quickly twisted into something demon-like, the illusion complete with those blood-red eyes.

"What did you say about that fucking Russian-bastard?! What did he fucking do to you?!" The enraged ex-nation lunged forward like striking viper, seizing Matthew by the wrist, forcefully twisting him in Francis' arms to face him. A split second later Alfred reacted, his mind processing Gilbert's movements as a possible attack, so at once he threw himself onto the albino, hooking his arms under Gilbert's to pull him away before damage could be caused to anyone.

Gilbert's struggling didn't last much longer; there was no point. Gilbert had heard the stories of when Alfred had swung a bison by it's forelegs when he was just a tiny toddler, or the time when he'd gone looking for Arthur whilst dragging his car just to gain permission to drive it. So he just hung back.

Francis rubbed circles over the latts of Matthew's back, mumbling softly in his mother-tongue. Matthew continued to stare back at Gilbert, barely acknowledging anyone else in the room.

"Matthew," Gilbert breathed. "I want you to tell me everything. We're going upstairs, now."

"No you're not," Arthur replied, turning to face him. "Frankly I don't trust you to be alone with him." The Englishman paused briefly. From upstairs in the attic came child-like cries that were Benjamin. He began to walk from the room and turned in mid-sentence.

"I'll see to him."

Alfred managed to wrestle Gilbert to the floor where he awkwardly pulled him into his lap. Still, Gil did not struggle. He just sat there.

It wasn't long before Arthur came trotting back into the room. He was holding Benjamin, wrapped in the blankets that he had been bedded with. The Brit tried to calm the child with a sort of bouncing-rocking movement, trying every trick he knew to coax him back to sleep.

Francis murmured something into Matthew's ear. Matthew nodded slowly. Then, Francis stood with the Canadian up in his arms in a bridal position before carrying him over to the sofa. He pulled the duvet up around Matthew, covering his shoulders and legs with the opening to his side. A momentary lapse in Alfred's concentration was quickly detected by Gilbert, so he took the chance to scramble free to accompany his Canadian on the sofa.

Oh? There were people here? And Papa too? Benjamin gurgled, throwing a distressed fist Arthur's way. It was barely enough to hurt let alone bruise but the flustered man grunted a cry of 'ouch!' anyways.

"I'm not quite sure… what he wants exactly. I thought you might…" The Brit admitted with a yawn. Francis took his grandson into a strong, fatherly hold. He procrastinated with handing him over to Matthew, seeing if he could be the one to quell his tears. Met with little success, Matthew received him.

He nuzzled the top of Benjamin's head, inhaling his milky baby smell as a means of comfort. He buried his nose amongst his silvery hair and sighed. Benjamin protested with a whine. His own need had yet to be fulfilled. Did Papa not understand that he was hungry?

Gilbert watched quietly from the side, looking over at his son and Matthew. He wanted nothing more than to pull them into a group hug right now yet at the same time he wanted answers. He wasn't about to ignore what Francis had told them. But he did wish with all his heart that it wasn't true, particularly if it was the result of sleeping with Ivan.

"Matthew," He addressed him sternly. "Tell me exactly what happened at Russia's house. Und tell me the truth."

"D-do you promise not to be mad?"

"Ja. I promise." Matthew daren't look up from his son. He pulled the covers over them, fumbling to unbutton his night shirt. Soon Benjamin was suckling, making cute little piglet grunts as he took his fill of milk.

"I… I'm pregnant… a-and I-I think Ivan i-is the f-f-father." Francis, having already received the news but simply in his own language, shook his head.

"I fucking knew it." Gilbert growled gruffly. He glared over at Matthew. The look in his eyes was something totally different to anger however. They were filled with sorrow, sorrow that practically bled from his eyes. "You slept with him? So you were quite happy there!"

"G-Gil, that's not it…!"

"Aargh! Ja it is! Don't lie!"

"B-but Gil, I'm not…!"

"Hold on now. Let him explain, Prussia. Allow him to explain himself."

"What's there to explain? He fucked Russia enough times to get knocked up! That's all I need to know!"

"I-I didn't want to do it… he was going to hurt Benjamin… he said he wouldn't i-if I s-slept with him…"

"But you didn't try to fight him? You didn't try to escape?"

"I…"

Arthur managed to squeeze himself between Gilbert and Matthew on the couch. He looped an arm around Matthew's shoulder in a lousy attempt to comfort him as he spoke.

"How do you know you're pregnant?"

"Blood test."

"When was that?"

"S-Sweden's house."

There was a long silence. The thought was just sinking in, the thought that Matthew was already going to be a Papa times two, more than likely by the end of the year.

"How are along are you, luv? Do you know?"

"Doctor s-said a couple of weeks… I'm scared… I-I really am…" Gilbert launched himself from the sofa with a hiss escaping his lips. Matthew made a move to follow until he felt Arthur's arms stop him. "I-I didn't know, I swear. It w-wasn't intentional…!"

So this was it. Matthew was having another child and he wasn't going to be the father. That God-damn Russia had practically raped him. Raped and beaten him like some sort of whorehouse slut. Gilbert wasn't sure what he was feeling right now. What was it? Jealousy? Hatred? Hurt? Maybe it was all of these things? He wasn't certain.

"Prussia, dude, where ya goin'?" Alfred called out behind him when he noticed the older man was leaving the room.

"To bed. Alone."

So for the rest of the evening all but Gilbert stayed downstairs in the living room. They may have been woken up but it was before ten o'clock at night, so they switched the television on to catch a show on the supernatural that Alfred had found. Only half an hour into it, however, Arthur deemed it unacceptable; Alfred was almost crying during a segment involving vengeful ghosts and curses and at any rate, it wasn't something a baby should be watching. So, they flicked the channel over to watch a light-hearted sitcom that seemed to cheer them all up.

Matthew was curled up against Francis with Benjamin on the armchair once again whilst Arthur and Alfred resumed their seat on the sofa. Then much to Matthew's delight, Kumajiro, Moose and Franziska appeared. They had woken up from their slumber up in Germany's room and so came down to investigate. Naturally they were curious of Benjamin, Kumajiro questioning him with 'Who are you?

Matthew explained that Benjamin was his new 'little brother'. The little bear clambered up onto the armchair where he sniffed and licked the giggling baby who in return tugged strongly at his ears. Right then the small ursine lost interest in the tiny human. Instead he seemed drawn to Matthew's belly. He rested his snout on his abdomen, chuffing softly whilst gazing at it with beady black eyes. It was something he had done throughout the last pregnancy, apparently according to Arthur animals could sense these sorts of things. Differences in odour and emotional behaviour from Matthew contributed with the pregnancy-detecting ability.

They were happy for the time being. They stayed up until one o'clock before calling it a night. Francis allowed Matthew to take the armchair to sleep whilst he forced himself by the fire upon the sheep-skin rug with one of the blankets. He didn't want Gilbert touching him or Benjamin not now.

Date: 2nd February, 2013, ongoing

So for the rest of the evening all but Gilbert stayed downstairs in the living room. They may have been woken up but it was before ten o'clock at night, so they switched the television on to catch a show on the supernatural that Alfred had found. Only half an hour into it, however, Arthur deemed it unacceptable; Alfred was almost crying during a segment involving vengeful ghosts and curses and at any rate, it wasn't something a baby should be watching (whether he was referring to Alfred or Benjamin, that remained unclear). So, they flicked the channel over to watch a light-hearted sitcom that seemed to cheer them all up.

Matthew was curled up against Francis with Benjamin on the armchair once again whilst Arthur and Alfred resumed their seat on the sofa. Then much to Matthew's delight, Kumajiro and the cats joined them. They had woken up from their slumber up in Germany's room and so came down to investigate. Naturally they were curious of Benjamin, Kumajiro questioning him with 'Who are you?

Matthew explained that Benjamin was his new 'little brother'. The little bear clambered up onto the armchair where he sniffed and licked the giggling baby who in return tugged strongly at his ears. Right then the small ursine lost interest in the tiny human. Instead he seemed drawn to Matthew's belly. He rested his snout on his abdomen, chuffing softly whilst gazing at it with beady black eyes. It was something he had done throughout the last pregnancy, apparently according to Arthur animals could sense these sorts of things. Differences in odour and emotional behaviour from Matthew contributed with the pregnancy-detecting ability.

They were happy for the time being. They stayed up until one o'clock watching re-runs of this-and-that before calling it a night. Francis allowed Matthew to take the armchair to sleep whilst he forced himself by the fire upon the sheep-skin rug with one of the blankets. He didn't want Gilbert touching him or Benjamin, not now anyways.

Then when the morning came, Matthew awoke to the sound of Francis and Gilbert having a row, barely a notch below shouting. It wasn't until he and the others were bundled into the back of the Frenchman's car that he found out the reason why they had fought; Gilbert didn't want him anymore. He didn't want to be around the child of the man he loathed more than Death itself, and he most certainly didn't want to see Ivan's smug face when and if he ever found out.

He had spent the night alone, thinking. He didn't want the baby of his enemy hanging around, nor did he want to be associated as it's father when he knew better. It wasn't his. Gilbert hadn't seen Matthew in over a month and then he had to come back with another child on the way.

This made him realise why Matthew had tried to convince him to have another baby with him. They would've had sex a few times, then Matthew probably would have tried to wait a few weeks to make it seem genuine before presenting the Prussian with a positive pregnancy test. Gilbert racked his brains. Had the young Canadian tried to plan it so that he thought the baby was his, a trick? Gilbert asked himself this many times, trying to convince himself that this was not the case. He didn't want to believe that thought for a minute… his sweet little Mattie wouldn't have tried to do that, right? Just to spare his feelings?  
Deceitful bastard.

So what if Gilbert had told his friend that he wanted to break up with Matthew? Big deal, right?

Well, not so. Matthew cried when he was told in the car. Kumajiro and Moose, plus Arthur, Alfred and the baby accompanied them on their journey back to Paris.

The Canadian considered many options; abortion. Setting the newborn up for adoption. Even sending it to Ivan with hopes he'd accept it. But he couldn't. Francis confirmed that he would take it if anything else, but for the time being Matthew and Benjamin would be staying in Paris with him. Matthew needed to be monitored, he told himself. And he very well couldn't monitor himself, nor could he let the absent-minded bear of his try either.

Over several days, Gilbert realised his vulgar mistake. Ludwig had been the one to enlighten his mind, letting him know that he was no longer and child and shouldn't act like one. So Gilbert tried to reason with Matthew over the phone. The first few calls lasted not five minutes before either party began to lose their temper in some way, shape or form. But then afterwards, Gilbert heard the monotone drone of the phone line as soon as he asked for Matthew. It wasn't Francis or Arthur or Alfred (or once, even not Kumajiro) who hung up. It was the Canadian himself. He called frequently; Gil made it a habit to call four or five times a day, each ending in failure.

Gilbert needed a comfort-fuck to get over this. So instead of trying to patch things up with Matthew, he went back to Roderich. Roderich, on the other hand, was less than eager to resume their one-tracked relationship. With the knowledge that Gilbert was a parent, he downright refused to sleep with him again. Even despite what Gilbert told him, Roderich scolded him for such a proposal, mentioning that he now has responsibilities and certain expectations to live up to.

Matthew hated Gilbert, yet he still loved him. But he didn't want him back.

There was no telling what Gilbert planned to do with either of the children. Matthew had an awful, rotten feeling that he'd berserk at the sight of the Russian's child; that the baby would resemble Ivan so strongly that he'd lose it and take his hate out on the defenceless individual.

If he could help it, Matthew would prevent it at all costs. Even if it meant cutting his ties with Gilbert. Arthur sided himself with Matthew on this one whilst Francis and Alfred tried to convince him otherwise. That Gilbert would not do anything to harm either baby. In truth, Francis was uncertain. He mostly felt a pang of sorrow for the rejected German. But in Matthew's decision, he was powerless.

* * *

And... that's the end. Kind of a bitch ending, don't you think?

Meh... I was thinking about running through with a sequel of sorts, in which England, America and France have starring roles too. If I can think with how to do it, and if anyone wants it, I'll write it.

But damn! Two months and this is finally finished!

**Edit: I've majorly edited the last part of this chapter. Filled it out, written it out a bit better, etc etc**

**I was indeed rushed but hopefully I've cleaned that little mistake up. Sorry!**


End file.
